On our Knees
by Habitual
Summary: Diamede always hated her brother's obsession with Transformers; movies, posters, toys, you name it, they had it. But, what happens when she wakes up, only to find that they don't have those things anymore - or worse still, no one but her remembers it?
1. How Graceful

**Author's Note:**

**The Idea: **OoK was inspired by Faecat's fiction, _Science and Fiction_. The story takes place in 2008, roughly 6 months after the first Transformers movie made its debut on the big screen. Diamede's younger brothers are obsessive fans of the series, and know everything there is to know. Megatron is dead, The Fallen is still incognito; the Autobots who partook in RotF are not here, but will be shortly.

**Legend:**

Cybertronian times: Times are based on either the IDW or Animated definitions.

An _astrosecond/nanoklik_ is roughly one second. A _klik_ is roughly one minute; a _breem_ is 8.3 minutes. A _cycle/joor_ is roughly an hour. A _mega-_cycle is roughly two hours. A _solar cycle_ is a day. A _deca-cycle_ is 3 weeks. A _quartex _is one month. A _stellar cycle_ is roughly one year. A _vorn_ is 83 years.

Communications: **bold**, with no quotations is a _communication link_, **"bold,"** with quotations is _spoken Cybertronian._ "_italics,_" with quotations is _another language_ or _phone conversation_. _Italics_, with no quotations is a _thought_.

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Transformers; Diamede and any non-canonical characters belong to me, or their respective owners. **Note:** I _do not_ speak Armenian or Arabic. All foreign languages are translated to the best of my ability. If you're a native speaker or know the language, by all means, please correct me! I would love your assistance.

_Warnings:_ None.

* * *

**How Graceful**

Friday

11th of January, 2008

Tranquility, CA, USA

Local Time: 0948 hours; 9:48 AM

* * *

**A long suffering sigh** escaped from a cocoon of blankets, wrapped around the body that laid curled up in the bed. It was far too early for her to be waking up on a school-free day, but there was no hope of getting back to sleep now.

Unraveling herself from the shelter of warmth, the young teen stretched her arms over her head with a quiet, pleased groan. Her back popped in a couple places, realigning itself before settling into normalcy. She sat up, swinging her legs down onto the wooden floor beneath, quickly lifting them from the chill. A soft sensation rubbed across them, and leaning forward, the culprit was revealed: the family cat, Rah, an Egyptian Mau.

"Good morning, Rah," Diamede said. Rah looked up at her, before jumping up into her lap and rubbing against her arms to be scratched.

Obliging to the cat's desires, Diamede scooped him up in her arms before standing up. If there was one thing she appreciated most about Rah, it was that he didn't care how he was carried. Hell, it seemed as if he enjoyed being carried like a baby. He meowed, reminding her that his belly was now exposed and prime for petting.

"You're insufferable," Diamede chastised, scratching his stomach as she headed for the door of her room.

Like clockwork, as soon as she opened the door a voice called from downstairs:

"Diamede?"

"Yes, mom?" She called down. She knew exactly what was going to be said next, however.

"Come down here and take your medicine!"

Yep, just like any other morning. Diamede set Rah down and began down the steps with him on her heels. Lost in her thoughts, she failed to watch where she was going.

There was a sudden sharp stab of pain in her left foot, causing her to recoil with a squeal of pain. Diamede hopped back, leaning against the wall and lifting her foot to cradle it and inspect the damage. Her gaze was cast to the floor, where one of _their_ toys lay. The offending plastic was that leader robot from the movie that had recently come out, _Transformers_, Diamede had taken her younger brothers to see. Ever since, they'd been obsessed. They watched every movie or cartoon ever made, had toys and a card set, and even had some posters from their last birthday.

Diamede, frankly, couldn't _stand_ it.

"What happened?" a concerned voice said, high with surprise and confusion.

Diamede's head whipped to the left, "Matthew's stupid toy! It was just sitting here at the bottom of the steps!"

"You should've looked where you were going!" Matthew retorted, coming from the kitchen to pick up and inspect his toy.

"Oh, I'm fine. Thanks for asking, Matthew," she hissed in retaliation. Matthew just glared up at her, sticking his tongue out.

"Enough, both of you," Morgan said, putting a hand on Matthew's shoulder.

Diamede had been, since birth, a poster child for her mother's mini-me. The same jet black hair; large, expressive green eyes. The only true difference was that Diamede's skin was a warm olive tone, whereas Morgan was a peachy medium, sun- kissed with the Mediterranean.

Morgan always had the ideal of femininity down to a science; a petite woman of five-foot-five and one hundred forty pounds, who enjoyed a simple life, but wasn't impartial to the finer commodities when offered. She carried herself proudly; chin up, poised and ready to take on the world. But, Diamede knew all too well that for as sophisticated and idyllic as Morgan may have seemed outwardly, she was a firecracker of tenacity and stubbornness. The eldest of five, Morgan had been whipped into shape by a true-blue, no-nonsense Italian born-and-raised father, who still held fast to the idea of the eldest being the leader, and exemplar for the younger ones.

Unfortunately, it meant that ideology was expected here, too.

"Matthew, apologize to Diamede,"

"Sorry, Dia," he grumbled, half-hearted at best. Morgan narrowed an eye, put patted the front of his shoulder, shooing him back into the kitchen.

Diamede looked up at her mom, lifting a brow. Morgan smiled and shook her head.

"They're boys, Dia," Morgan said matter-of-factly, "There's not a thing we can do till they're thirty."

"I wanted a dog, or another cat," Diamede said dramatically, "But _nooo_. Instead, I got the two twin twisters of terror. "It'll be fun," you said. "They'll look up to you," you said. Yeah, _right_."

Morgan scoffed and swatted Diamede upside the head lightly. "You're so melodramatic – and I know that isn't from me."

"You sure? Have you heard yourself when you're driving, or during a sale at the mall?"

"I'm your mother, don't argue," she retorted, turning to head back to the kitchen. "I made pancakes, and your medicine is next to your orange juice."

Diamede rolled her eyes, but followed after Morgan regardless. True to her word, sitting on the island counter was a glass of orange juice, and two pills. With a practice toss, she put both in her mouth and took drink of orange juice to wash them down. Her mother tapped a fork on the counter to draw her attention to a plate; two pancakes, butter pre-spread and syrup already poured.

She gave her mom props: Morgan never forgot someone's favourite food, or _just_ how they like it prepared and presented.

"So, Dia," Matt spoke up, his tone just a hair shy of condescending. "Still bummed you can't go to that party tonight?"

"No more so than the fact grandma got you Thomas the Train underwear for your birthday," she countered with practiced ease, taking a bite out of her pancakes. Matthew's shoulders rose indignantly, and Mark stifled a laugh.

"Diamede,"

"What? He instigated," she protested. "But since he _did_ bring it up…"

There was a small clink of the fork being set in the sink, and Diamede knew if she looked up from her plate, her mother would be looking at her. Left eyebrow arched, lips pressed in a line, weight cocked on one hip with her hand resting there. It was her, "Do you really think I'm that naïve," look. The one that told Diamede she'd A, asked one too many times, and B, was pushing it.

Which she always seemed to do.

Cautiously, Diamede's eyes looked up, and sure enough Morgan was giving her That Look. But something was amiss; she actually seemed to be thinking. For a moment, a small bubble of hope rose up in Diamede's mind.

"You are _certain_ there are no boys there?"

"Unless I'm being lied to, which is unlikely. Miranda may be snarky, but she's no liar."

Morgan paused, the arched brow dropping and her expression becoming more thoughtful. It would've been a lot less daunting had she looked somewhere else, but she seemed keen on staring Diamede down. Probably her idea of interrogation at the Mother's Federal Bureau of Investigating Their Children.

"Fine,"

Diamede about choked on a bite of her pancakes. She coughed, making Morgan flinch involuntarily, but put a hand to her collar and looked at her, serious but incredulous.

"Really? As in… I can go fine?"

"Yes,"

"_Really_?" Diamede said again, this time more like a squeal.

"Yes, you may go. Under the promise that if there are boys, you leave."

"I promise!" Diamede said, running over to hug Morgan, than turning tale to run upstairs.

Now, the question has probably arose as to the whole 'no boy' thing. Normally, it's the dad; he don't want no dirty anybody boy touching his baby girl. While that stood true in some ways, Diamede's father was perhaps _more_ strict about that than usual, and with good reason.

Eshkhan Tankian is a honest Armenian born-and-raised man. His family consisted of his 100% Armenian father, his mother, a Turkish woman named Amala, and his seven siblings. They moved to America when Eshkhan (the eldest) was about fifteen; the others ranged from one and a half to fourteen. While it took a little bit to convince his conservative parents of how much he cared for Morgan, the two couldn't have gotten along better. Of course they disagreed on things, and had their fights, but they brought out the better in each other.

Diamede loved her dad, really. She knew he only wanted the best for his children, and to be frank, he wasn't exactly the picture of "push over." At six-foot-four and one hundred and seventy, and having served in the military for a while, he was far from a push over. A stern disciplinarian, Eshkhan usually intimidated people who didn't know him. A strong jaw and long, slightly hooked nose gave him a stern appearance. Diamede usually just said he was like a giant teddy bear. Her friends, however, still had yet to believe her.

Diamede headed back to her room where Rah had made himself comfortable at the foot of her bed. He opened his eyes, watching her apathetically as she moved to her closet.

Turning to look over her shoulder out the window, it was another bright, cloudless California day. Her attention returned to her clothes. She opted for a simple cream coloured, knee length dress. She pulled off her pyjamas, tugging the dress over her head. The belt came next, wrapped under her bust and secured into place. She was about to head for the vanity, when she paused and glanced at the dresses spaghetti straps. Her brow dropped, and she reached back into the closet to grab a small shrug and put it over her shoulders.

She may be pretty modest normally, but her dad didn't forget all of his heritage.

At the vanity, she just ran a brush through her hair and straightened it out. Her eyes drifted to the golden locket that hung around her neck, and her fingers ran over it with affectionate reverence. Damn, it wouldn't be long, would it?

Clearing her head, she grabbed her bag and turned on her heels to head for her door.

"Bye, Rah!"

"Mrrow," he replied, rolling over and closing his eyes again.

At the door, Diamede was slipping on a pair of white flats when she felt eyes on the back. With her left arm braced on the door's threshold, and one foot in the air, she peered under her arm to see her mom looking at her.

"What?"

"Nothing," Morgan replied, watching Diamede as she stood up. "You can't blame me for being motherly."

"No, but I can blame you for being possessive," Diamede said with a smirk and a tilt of her head.

Morgan scoffed. "You got that from him, I swear." She said, feigning exasperation, before leaning over to place a kiss on Diamede's head. "Have fun, Bu."

"I will, mom," Diamede said, turning around and heading out the door.

Miranda's house was about a twenty minute walk from Diamede's. It was only made a bit longer by Diamede stopping Bridget's house to pick her up.

Bridget waved goodbye to her mom and closed the door. She sighed and ran a hand through her auburn hair.

"What? She had you carrying things again?"

"Mede, if I never see another paper box in my life, I will die a very happy and content person."

Diamede laughed. Bridget's mom had a bad habit of recruiting her daughter to help with things that involved her work.

Bridget had been Diamede's first friend in California; a spunky, bubbly girl with medium auburn hair, bright brown eyes, and seemed to be in perpetual motion.

"So, did you get geometry homework?" She asked, righting her shirt as they headed down the sidewalk.

"Oh, sure," Diamede replied nonchalantly.

"Okay, smart-aleck," Bridget snorted, "Did you really?"

"Most of it. I didn't bother with that compass problem because, really, who does those?"

"Joshua?"

"Yeah, well Joshua might as well be able to recite Shakespeare's autobiography backwards, word perfect." Diamede retorted.

"Hey, at least he's really nice and willing to help," Bridget offered. "He could be one of those really smart people who's actually an ass and condescending."

"I'll give you that much."

They chatted about whatever came up, heading to the mall and park for a few hours. They weren't supposed to go to Miranda's until 4, and it was only 11 A.M. Around 3:30, after window shopping and having ice cream in the park, they headed for their friend's.

As they finished the trek to Miranda's house, her dog, Rascal, was there to greet them when they opened the front gate. His tail was wagging furiously, and he licked at Diamede's ankles until she acquiesced and kneeled down to pet him.

"You're here!"

Diamede about jumped out of her skin and her head shot to the side to see Malcolm and two of his friends, Jordan and Michael walking into the yard. Rascal barked at them, ran and sniffed them, before coming to Diamede. Standing, she tried to form a coherent sentence, looking to Bridget for aide.

"…Oh, heh," she said sheepishly.

"Heh?!" Diamede said, holding her arms out in a "What the hell?" manner.

"I forgot to tell you; I forgot you weren't allowed."

"Weren't allowed what?" Malcolm asked, quirking a brow.

"Diamede's dad was all 'no parties if there's boys,'" Bridget explained. "You know, typical dad stuff."

"Hey, we won't do anything. We're model citizens," Michael said, puffing out his chest, only to lose all his breath when Jordan swatted his stomach roughly.

"Yeah, Mr. I'm going to go ten miles over the speed limit in a school zone when the lights are on,"

"_One time_! Once! And you never let it go!" Michael barked defensively.

Bridget looked back at Diamede, who shot her a warning glare. "Oh, come on, Mede! You're already here – do you think your dad will care if it's just this once?"

"Have you _seen_ her dad?" Jordan interjected. "I'm surprised I didn't turn into a puddle when I met him."

Diamede's interests were piqued. "You met him?"

"Yeah," Jordan said with a nod, "He flew my plane when my parents and I came back from Hawaii in November."

She took a pause and thought back. That made sense – he often did the Hawaii flights.

"I saw the picture of you and your family he was showing the flight attendant. As soon as I mentioned we were in the same class, he gave me this look that just said "I'm going to do a background check, drug test, and verify that you are, in fact, an American citizen.""

"That's him," Diamede said with a groan.

"Will you stay?" Malcolm asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Diamede looked from him to Bridget, who gave her a big 'you know you want to' smile. She pondered for a few minutes before slumping her shoulders. Bridget threw her arms around her.

"It'll be fine, trust me!"

"Uh huh."

* * *

A few hours later, at about nine, Diamede was sufficiently glad she had stayed. Miranda, Bridget, Malcolm, Jordan, Michael, Sasha and she had played a rather intense couple games of Mario Kart, Life, and pigged out on more pizza and soda than necessary. But, while she was glad she stayed, she still had the nagging guilt in the back of her head that would rush forward every so often.

She was watching Sasha and Malcolm arguing over who had managed to get the Jack first in their game of Slap Jack when her phone vibrated. Curious, she pulled it out and slid the unlock screen away.

_Called in to hospital; one girl was sick. I won't be home till 6, and dad won't be back until about 2. Be home by eleven for the boys. _Sent by her mom.

Diamede groaned to herself, dropping her head onto her forearm. At least she had an excuse to get rid of this nagging guilt.

"You okay?" Bridget asked, raising a brow.

"Mmf," came the muffled answer.

Diamede felt her phone get plucked from her hand, and scrambled to follow it. Miranda glanced over it, and frowned.

"You have to go home? That's lame," she said forlornly.

"My brothers are ten, so she's still in that mother hen stage."

"You can't seriously consider walking home alone at this hour," Malcolm said from his spot, deftly elbowing Michael in the stomach before he could grab at Malcolm's drink.

"That was _this_ close, bro!" Michael hissed, holding up his fingers about three inches apart.

"Serves you," Malcolm retorted before looking back to Diamede. "Seriously, though – it's pitch black outside."

"Oh, no," Diamede said nonchalantly. "I was just gonna hop on my broomstick and get home that way."

Miranda, Sasha and Bridget snickered. Malcolm just rolled his eyes.

"Very funny, witch," he scoffed. "I'll walk you home."

"As nice as that is, I really can't; if my brothers see you, they'll tell my dad and he'll have a fit."

"She's not kidding – her dad is one of those super protective types," Bridget piped up. Diamede silently said 'thank you' in her head; Bridget was the only person who knew why her dad was like that in the first place.

"And I'm sure her dad would appreciate finding out Diamede walked home by herself," Malcolm retorted.

Diamede opened her mouth to retort, but closed it when she realized he _did _have a point. The question was which risk was worse?

"Then it's decided!" Malcolm said with finality, dropping his hands onto his knees with a slap. He stood up, looking down at Diamede. "I'll walk you home."

"Uh, I thought we were in America," Diamede scoffed.

"All in favour of Diamede being walked home?"

Everyone –probably just to spite her- raised their hands.

"… You're all a bunch of mutinous lechers," Diamede said with a glare shot at everyone. Without any more argument, she tucked her phone back into her pocket and stood up, straightening her shirt.

Malcolm grabbed his drink, shooting a look at Michael who lifted his hands in innocence. He followed Diamede to the front door, reaching out and opening it for her.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at the dark night sky. "You really don't have to do this. My house is maybe twenty minutes away."

"Ah, but I must. I'd hate to be the guy who said he would, then come to find out that when he didn't, something happened."

"You calling me defenseless?" Diamede said, shooting him a look.

Malcolm held out his hands in acquiescence. "I never said that – you just can't trust people."

"Now where have I heard that before?"

"Any mother ever."

Diamede snorted, glancing out at all the houses tucked in their rows. It was so different from Alaska – hell, so different from visiting her grandparents in Armenia. She didn't miss that flight, that's for sure.

"Your dad's a pilot? What airline?" Malcolm asked, drawing her back from her revere, and tucking his hands in his pockets.

"Delta," she replied. "Mom works at hospital. Mostly clerical, but she's a registered nurse, so sometimes she gets to do exciting things."

"Hey now, you ever try filing paperwork all day? That is extremely dangerous work – paper cuts are a bitch."

Diamede snorted; "Oh, _very_ exciting."

She was about to ask him about his parents when a loud yowl broke her thoughts. Both kids froze, looking in between a couple houses. Diamede lifted a brow and slowly began heading for the small alley.

"Diamede, what are you doing?" Malcolm hissed.

"It sounded hurt – it can't be bad to check, right?"

Another yowl pierced and the sound of something scraping against wood broke the quiet night. Unlucky for Diamede, she never was very fast in the reflex department.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Finally I have this finished. The next chapters may be a little while – I apologize :(!


	2. Hard-Knox

**Author's Note:** Second completely re-done chapter! I hope you enjoy! If you aren't aware: I have completely redone Diamede's character, and edited the story. It will, hopefully, be much nicer to read, and be more in-character. This will be tedious, but if you bear with me, I hope to make it worth your while!

If you have any questions, please, feel free to PM me or leave a review. I will gladly clear up any misconceptions.

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Transformers nor any of its characters. All non-canon characters are copyright to their respectful owners.

_Warnings:_ None.

* * *

**Hard-Knox**

Saturday

12th of January, 2008

Tranquility, CA, USA

Local Time: Unknown – evening.

* * *

**Her ears were ringing and her head pounded.** Her hands felt heavy, and she almost didn't want to move them. Slowly, Diamede brought her hands up to rub at her eyes.

"Mom!"

Diamede cried out at the close proximity of Mark's loud voice. He quickly whispered sorry about five times, trying to keep his voice down. She could hear him shuffling to stand up and run across the wooden living room floor. Funny… when did she end up on the couch?

"Dia?"

Diamede slowly opened her eyes. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust and the blur to go away. She blinked a couple times, and didn't dare lift her head.

"M–" Diamede stopped, swallowing. Her throat was more dry than when she stepped out of the airport in Arizona on their way to the East Coast to fly to Yeveran. "Malcolm?"

"Yeah – how do you feel?" He asked from his spot on the opposite couch.

Before Diamede could reply, her mother's hand gently touched her forehead. Diamede flinched away from the cool droplets of water at her finger tips.

"Oh, you're Alaskan – man up." She chastised, rolling Diamede onto her back and putting a cold wash cloth on her forehead. "How do you feel?"

"My head is pounding; what happened?" she asked, looking up at her mother. This was the first time in a long time she'd seen her look so tired and worried.

"Remember that cat you heard?" Malcolm asked. Diamede tilted her head slightly, nodding. "You went to go see if it was alright; turned out it was up on a window sill. It knocked a small potted plant over and it hit you on the head. You're lucky you didn't look up, or it would've been nasty."

Diamede averted her eyes, trying to remember. She could remember two yowls, pain, and then darkness… but there was something – something else amongst that darkness. A dream, maybe? She couldn't be sure, and the pounding in her head didn't help ease her mind. She felt her mother run her hands through her hair.

"Do you want something? Tea?"

"Yeah…" Diamede said. She looked to Malcolm, who nodded as soon as her mother was out of hearing range.

"Did you tell her?"

"What? The truth? Yeah, I did." He said, and quickly held his hand up at Diamede's horrified expression. "No, no! They took it well – except… well your brothers saw me giving you a piggy-back ride up the walk and I think they thought I beat you… And your cat wasn't too happy with me either."

Speaking of Rah, Diamede looked at the foot of the couch in time to see him jump up and walk up to her arms, rubbing against them and purring lovingly.

There was an 'ahem,' and Diamede lifted her head quicker than she should have. It plopped back down on the pillow, and she covered her eyes with one hand, muttering an ow.

"Thank you, Malcolm. We appreciate you seeing her home."

"Of course – get a lot of rest, Dia. If you're not there Monday, I'll make sure someone takes extra notes."

"Uh huh…" She mumbled. She really didn't want to open her eyes.

A warm hand cupped her cheek, and Diamede slowly moved her hand to look up at her mother. Her face was nothing but concern, anger, and worry. Which drove the knife deeper into Diamede's chest, she didn't know.

"Care to explain?" her mom said, her voice quiet and controlled.

"Well…" Diamede said, trying to think of how to even begin explaining. "Okay, yes, Malcolm, Josh, and Michael were there. I didn't know until last minute and Bridget guilt-tripped me into staying. Ask anyone, mom – I wasn't alone with any of them for a second. Not even Bridget."

Morgan looked at her daughter, brows pressed together in thought.

"I promise, mom." Diamede pressed. There was a silent 'please don't tell dad' added to it, and by the look Morgan gave her, she caught on.

Finally, her mom sighed. "Fine, I trust you. But you get straight to your room, and go straight back to sleep. I don't want to hear any ifs, ands, or buts. And tomorrow, if you're up for it, you're cleaning your room, bathroom, and the kitchen for me as repayment. Got it?"

"Yes, but, please whisper…" Diamede said, wincing. Morgan smiled tiredly, patted Diamede's cheek, and then stood up to leave back into the den where the television was playing softly.

Cautiously, Diamede stood up. Well, it was more of inching her way into a sitting position, then inching her way into standing, but she got up nonetheless. Rah kept watching her; looking up, then down again, then back up. She'd never get tired of that cat; he took to her more fondly than anyone else. Picking up her tea and dropping the wash cloth off in the kitchen, she headed for the stairs. She took it slowly, trying not to do anything sudden that would cause her head to pound.

At the top of the stairs, she did a small fist pump for her own triumph. Down the hall, she saw her brother's door cracked open, and two bodies sitting on the floor. She paused, opening the door, and what she saw nearly made her drop her tea.

Where there were once posters of Transformers and the occasional Super Man, there was _only_ Super Man. And Spider man, and a bunch of other comic book and cartoon characters she couldn't name.

"Dia?"

Ripped out of her stupor, Diamede looked down to Mark and Matthew, who were playing _Sorry _and looking at her expectantly.

"What?" She asked, flinching at how small her own voice sounded.

"Do you need something?" Matt repeated.

"I… your… What happened to all your posters?"

"They're… still there?"

"No! The Transformers posters – you guys had like eight or twenty or something," Diamede said, shooting a glare at Matt.

He shot one right back. "I've never heard of "transformers." You need to go back to bed."

Diamede was about to retort, but she just closed her mouth and turned to leave their room. As soon as she was in the hall, she turned for her room and picked up her gait. Once she was there, she headed for her nightstand. Inside the first drawer was a journal converted to a scrap book. She flipped back to July of 2007, and skimmed through.

_Wait… This isn't right! I _know _I took them to the movies – I even put the ticket in here!_ But instead of a ticket and entry about it, it was her hand writing saying she had a boring day, and still wasn't used to California.

Looking over her shoulder, Diamede put the journal back and headed for her computer. She shook the mouse a little, and the monitor flicked back to life. She quickly opened Google, typing in 'transformers 2007 movie.'

To her dismay nothing appeared. There were articles about movies that came out in 2007, and electrical transformers, but nothing on the robots she knew. How… how hard had she hit her head? No – she _knew_ they were real. She had stepped on Matt's toy just yesterday morning!

Sitting back in her chair, Diamede thought for a long, quiet moment. She didn't even pay attention to Rah who leaped up on her desk, laying in front of her monitor and watching her.

None of this made sense… How come she couldn't find any evidence about them? She knew they were there yesterday – she knew it!

A small sound drew her attention away from her pitiful wallowing. She looked over at her bed where the clothes she'd worn yesterday laid. On top of her shirt was her phone – her mother must've changed her clothes into her pyjamas while she was unconscious…

_Go mom, I think._ Diamede said, standing up and heading for her bed. Rah followed after her, putting himself in her lap, obviously annoyed she wasn't paying attention to him. She ran a hand down her back while she picked up her phone. There were three text messages; one from Miranda, another from Bridget, and the latest from Malcolm.

_OMG what happened?! R you okay?_

_If you don't call me as soon as you get up, I'm going to find you and shave your head!_

_Okay, I know you're up. Please get Bridget off my back ;_;_

Diamede sighed, selecting her phone and calling up Bridget. She turned the volume down to a nice one or two, just to be sure.

"_You-_"

"Bridget, please. My head is still pounding; no loud voices." Diamede pleaded.

"_Diamede, oh my god – you were just supposed to go home! Next thing we know Michael is getting a call from Malcolm, who's at your house, saying you got hit on the head?! Do you know how worried I was?_"

"I can imagine, Bridget. I'm sorry, but I couldn't exactly tell you how I was while unconscious."

"_Yeah, whatever, technicalities; how are you now?_"

"Aside from a headache that feels like a jack hammer in my head, I'm alright. Tired, though. I'm supposed to be in bed all- for the rest of the night." _Good God, I was out over twenty hours? Who goes unconscious that long from a clay pot?_

"_Still, you gave us all a heart attack. If you need to sleep, go sleep._"

"Hey, Bridget?" Diamede said, before she could hang up. "What toy did I step on yesterday?"

"_What? You mean Matt's uh… Spiderman toy?_"

Diamede was quiet, the words she wanted to say trapped in her throat. She swallowed thickly, nodding even though she knew Bridget couldn't see. "Yeah, that one; I just forgot. Thanks…"

"_Bed, now. See you Monday, if you're up for it._"

"Night," She replied weakly, hanging up.

Diamede move Rah out of her lap, kicked her clothes off her bed, and tucked herself under the covers. She could feel tears of confusion welling up, but refused to let them trickle down her face. Instead, she pulled out her phone again, opening a new message.

_What time is it there?_

…

_9:35 A.M. Sunday._

_Did I wake you?_ Diamede prayed she didn't. She'd feel awful.

_Got woken for prayer. You alright?_

_Yeah, I'm fine._

…

_I know when you're lying. Your mom called yesterday. _

"Of course she did." Diamede huffed.

_I'm fine – just tired; I'm in bed, I just wanted to talk._

…

_Time zones aren't forgiving. I'm sorry. Go to sleep, we'll talk tomorrow._

Diamede stared at her phone. She wanted to ask, but…

It was like clockwork. Her phone vibrated, and she smiled, answering it.

"_Bari gisher, ser._"

"_Sh'norhakal em._" She answered, smirking.

"_I can hear the smirk on your face – sleep._"

"Yes, yes." She groaned, putting her phone on her nightstand when the call had ended.

Diamede rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. She didn't think she appreciated her bed's comfort in a long time. Rah curled up near her feet, and within a few minutes, Diamede was out cold.

* * *

"Hey… I got something."

"This better not be some bs jump scare, Rick."

"No – someone searched them up; even the year they arrived."

"Serious?"

"Yeah, look."

"… I'll be damned. Get the Major on the phone."

* * *

**End Note:** Yet another one done!

No, I'm not going to translate those little bits. I'll use them again later, so you all can just wait to see~


	3. A Visitor

**Author's Note:** Another revamped chapter!

I apologize for being slow – I've been cleaning up some things, reorganizing files, school work, etc. I've also been working on Diamede and Brooke's notes, trying to get them organized and written up, as well.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Transformers; all non-canon characters belong to their respective owners.

_Warnings:_ None.

* * *

**A Visitor**

Monday

14th of January, 2008

Tranquility, CA, USA

Local Time: 1335 Hours; 1:35 PM

* * *

**The past two nights, Diamede's dreams had been off the charts weird.** Even she hadn't been too sure how to explain them.

She was aware she was dreaming – that was the first tip off. She'd never been a lucid dreamer, but she _knew_ she had been dreaming. She was always aware of being trapped in a room; it was cylindrical, and had no seams where the floor met the walls. Which was weird itself because the floor was clearly flat. She knew there was a table in front of her, but there was nothing on it.

Perhaps the strangest thing was, despite being lucid, she couldn't control herself. Her body was stuck in the chair she had been sitting in, and she couldn't move. Even her eyes remained focused on the table, out of her control.

She had woken up somewhat dazed, but after breakfast felt better, and chose to ignore her odd dreams. That's all they were, anyway; she had more important things to worry about.

When Morgan was positive her daughter was fine and wouldn't keel over, she had relinquished her to school. The second she got off the bus, she had been accosted by Brooke and Miranda, who ushered her inside to meet with Sasha. The three girls immediately began interrogating Diamede, who answered the questions as best she could. Eventually, they, too, felt she was adequately rested, but not before three fingers were pointed inches from her face with threats of unimaginable pain should she over-exert herself.

The rest of the day had been business as usual: art first period, then math, biology, English, lunch, home economics, band, and finally, history. Diamede loved the end of her day more than anything - three classes she enjoyed more than anything. Well, art too, but it was best as her first class; she wasn't sure she'd make it had math been first.

So now, she was sitting in history without really paying attention. Of course, she had a pretty good grasp on the first World War, so she wasn't really bent out of shape. Well, until-

"Diamede,"

"Huh?" She said reflexively, looking to see her teacher staring at her, one brow risen.

"Did you hear the question?"

"Uh..."

"The Meuse-Argonne battle - when did it start?"

Diamede was quiet for a moment. "September... Twenty-something."

"Twenty-sixth, good," he corrected, then began to lecture again.

Diamede glanced to her side where Bridget mouthed 'nice save.' At least her quick thinking skills weren't totally shot.

"Now, the battle was a rather decisive-"

The bells rang out, and the sound of books being shifted and gathered began to build.

"Remember: read the rest of the chapter, and answer all the questions. Oh, don't even groan - you can all answer ten questions. And, Diamede,"

The teen froze mid-step, turning to look at Mr. Kessler. "Yes?"

As everyone else filed out, he stepped over to stand in front of her, looking concerned. "Are you alright? You've never spaced out in class before."

"What? Oh, I just... I don't know - I mean, I'm fine. I just had a rather eventful weekend, is all. Got lost in thought."

Mr. Kessler gave a non-committed hum, then waved his good-bye. Diamede shrugged and turned to leave. She wandered the halls before finding her locker, right next to Bridget's.

"Got held back?" Bridget asked, pulling her back pack out to put her books in it.

"Yeah, nothing bad. Just asked me why I sp- OH GOD NO, WHY!" Diamede shrieked, dropping her history book. Her locker door had been slammed shut, nearly taking her arms with it had she not pulled them back in time.

She curled in on herself, still standing, while inching closer to Bridget. Bridget, however, was practically pissing herself from laughing so hard. Her arms wrapped around her stomach, trying to control her laughter. Diamede groaned, holding one hand over her heart, and the other over eyes.

"Malcolm _why_ would you do that," she whined, dropping her arms dramatically. She glared up at him as he held back snickers.

"Just had to make sure you're still alive and kickin',"

"I hope you step on a Lego," Diamede grumbled, standing straight, righting her shirt and opening her locker again.

"But no, seriously, I wanted to see how you were. How are you feeling?"

"You mean besides the aneurysm you just gave me?" she hissed in response, tossing her history book into her backpack. "I'm fine, really. Head doesn't hurt, the bump is almost gone; it's all good."

"Still," Bridget interjected, "A clay pot. Someone's cat must have a vendetta against you."

"Yes, because I am notorious amongst the cat population of Tranquility,"

"Well, you never know," Malcolm said, stroking his chin in some pseudo-sage beard stroke. "Maybe you accidentally looked at their leader wrong, and now he's put a bounty on your head."

Diamede rolled her eyes, scoffing. She swore, only her friends were like this. Pulling out her back pack, Bridget and Malcolm grabbed their own. Diamede had to admit, it was nice knowing she still had this bit of normality. The past two days had been weird without Matt and Mark going on about Transformers. Sure, it was nice to get a little peace, but still - it wasn't _right_. She was the only person who knew - and if there was nothing online, then there sure as hell wouldn't be any people who could answer her questions.

About five minutes into the trek back home, Bridget spoke up.

"Dia, you sounded upset the other day when I said you stepped on Matt's toy - why?"

For a moment, Diamede was quiet. Should she tell them the truth? Not like they'd believe her.

"I just... Look, the only way I can explain it is that on Friday, everything was perfectly normal. My brothers were obsessed with some stupid series, never shut up about it, then the next thing I know, I wake up Sunday and BAM! It never existed."

"What show?" Malcolm asked, lifting a brow curiously.

"Transformers. It came out in like... the eighties or something."

"Well," Malcolm said, a slight chuckle hidden in his voice. "My dad and I are huge old-school cartoon nerds; anything eighties, nineties, we've seen. I've never heard of a show like that."

"Yeah," Diamede sighed, "Somehow, I knew you'd say that."

"Hey, don't be down, Dia," Bridget chirped, stepping up and linking their arms. "You got hit on the head with a clay pot - maybe you just had a crazy vivid dream; maybe you'll become a millionaire for this show you're talking about!"

Diamede laughed with Bridget and Malcolm, putting on a facade of 'hey, I'm fine.' Apparently her acting skills improved, because neither of her friends questioned her demeanour.

With Bridget at home and Malcolm having stopped at the store, Diamede was left with the fifteen minute walk back home. Running a hand through her hair, she forced a dramatic sigh, purely for relaxing purposes. But as she approached her house, she stopped dead in her tracks.

A man, obviously military by his clothes, and of seemingly Hispanic descent was climbing into a car parked in her drive way. Diamede stared as he backed out, and caught a brief glimpse of his face as he turned and drove past.

She swore - and seriously _swore_ - she'd seen that man before...

Now armed with about forty questions, Diamede jogged up the driveway and to the front door.

"Mom?"

"Diamede, welcome home," Morgan said, stepping out of the hallway with a smile. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. B-"

"Speaking of, I'm not too sure why you didn't tell us about this sooner - your father is proud of your initiative!"

"My what?"

"Initiative, love. Really, though, telling us things isn't going to hurt y-"

Call it serendipity, but Diamede was pretty sure whatever deity existed was laughing at her right now. Morgan's cell phone began to ring and vibrate from the kitchen counter, and before Diamede could even utter a question, she was gone. With a groan, she dragged herself upstairs and into her room, setting her backpack down by her desk.

Rah walked up to her legs and rubbed himself against them, purring like an engine. She reached down, picking him up and cradling him in her arms.

"Well, fat chance I'll get to talk to her within the next thirteen hours. Want to help me with World War I?"

"Mrroow."

* * *

. . .

. . . .

. . . . .

"_This is a surprise. What's happening this time?_"

"We need a favour from you, kid,"

"_That being...?_"

"There's a young woman we need you to keep an eye on. Is he listening in?"

"_I am, sir._"

"Good. Keep an eye on her, and if you find an opportunity to grab her, do it."

"_Whoa - whoa! You want us to _kidnap_ a girl?!_"

"God, no; we've got a cover story for her already in play. You just need to get her for us."

"..._I don't like this. It feels, I don't know, wrong._"

"This is a matter of national security - if all was perfect, it wouldn't be a problem."

"_Okay, okay, we'll watch out for her._"

"Excellent. We're sending you the information now."

* * *

**Sir, this doesn't feel right at all...**

**I know; I do not like this plan, but it is all we have right now.**

**This is a secret we need to keep; you know that. **

**I know, it just feels so wrong. **

**We will amend it when the time comes. For now, you have a task to complete.**

**Yes, sir.**

* * *

**End note:** Another done. Hopefully I'll have a couple more done within the week. School is proving to be more trouble than it's worth lol.


	4. Friends with Detriments

**Author's Note: **Another chapter, hot off the press!

Actually, I'm pretty sure I'm the last person who should say that. But hey, I'm trying!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Transformers. All non-canonical characters belong to their respective owners.

_Warnings:_ None.

* * *

**Friends with Detriments**

Friday

18th of January, 2008

Tranquility, CA, USA

Local Time: 1400 Hours: 2:00 PM

* * *

**Diamede had to admit, her dreams were now creepy.**

Every night it had been the same room, the same chair and table. She still couldn't move, but now there were _whispers_. She couldn't make them out, no matter how hard she strained to hear. They were quiet, airy sounds - far off enough that any sense was lost in the distance.

She got the vague sense that the whispers were saying _something_. Diamede just didn't know what; maybe she wasn't at the "level" she needed to be? Until she found a way to further these dreams, she wasn't sure it'd get any clearer.

Yesterday at lunch, Diamede had told Bridget and Malcolm a few things about the movie. She had purposefully left out quite a few details; the things that sounded just too out there. She didn't really drop names of any of the characters, either, except for "the main character and his friend, Miles or something." She hadn't seen the flash of recognition in Malcolm's eyes, and perhaps that was going to be her undoing.

"Diamede, come here!"

Dia turned to see Bridget, waving her over. Lifting a brow, she followed after her friend.

Bridget hooked her arm around Diamede's and pulled her along the school's lawn. Diamede saw Malcolm off a couple yards, watching them approach. He met them half way, uncrossing his arms and putting his hands in his pockets.

"So, someone want to tell me what's going on?" Diamede asked, shooting both of them a sharp look.

"Remember when we were talking yesterday, during lunch?" Malcolm asked. Diamede nodded cautiously. "Well, when you mentioned one of the characters names, I knew I had heard it before. So I figured, hey, maybe this was what you were remembering."

Diamede watched him with guarded caution, but followed him and Bridget. She stopped dead when she saw what he intended to show her.

Sitting on the grass, under the shade of a tree, were three teenagers. Two young men, and a young woman. But they weren't just any teens - oh no, they were _those_ teens. She could clearly recall their names - both character and actors. She had never known who the actor of Miles had been, but she knew the face well enough. Diamede could almost feel the colour drain from her face.

She was shook from her thoughts by Bridget, yanking her arm and causing her to stumble forward.

"Hey, Sam!" Malcolm called out.

_Okay, good joke! Someone can wake me up now!_ Diamede pleaded in her mind.

"Hey, Malcolm," Sam spoke up, leaning back on his hands. "What's up?"

"We wanted to introduce you to our friend, Diamede," Bridget said, giving Diamede a small shake.

Diamede pulled her arm free from Bridget's grasp, shooting her a glare. She turned her gaze back to the trio looking up at her.

"Nice to meet you," Sam said, stretching out a hand. Diamede took it, feeling a small shock of static electricity, but shook nonetheless. "I'm Sam."

"I'm Mikaela," came the next greeting, followed by a smile.

"And I'm Mi-ow-les," Miles said, picking up his hand to inspect where he'd set it on a sharp rock.

"Didn't know you changed your name," Malcolm piped up.

"Are you new here?" Mikaela asked, looking straight up at Diamede.

"Uh... sort of," she replied, averting her eyes for a moment. "I've lived here for about six months now."

"Where'd you move from?"

"Alaska,"

"_Really_?" Miles blurted out, sounding astounded. "What was it like? Was it really cold?"

It took a lot of willpower for Diamede not to snap at him. She couldn't stand questions like that.

"Yeah, I lived in Palmer. And no, it was only cold in the fall and winter. Otherwise, very moderate springs and summers."

"I've heard stories," Mikaela smiled. "It sounds like a gorgeous place."

"It is," Dia agreed. "If you visit at the right time, or during the right winter, it's some of the prettiest scenery I've ever seen."

"Dia," Malcolm nudged her side with his elbow. She shied away, and Bridget pulled her down to sit; Malcolm followed suit. "What about what you asked us?"

"Huh?"

"Yesterday, during lunch," he pressed.

"Oh... No, don't worry, it's okay."

"But you told us about the movie you-"

"Malcolm, believe me, it's fine," Diamede interrupted, giving him a "Shut Up" look.

Sam looked over to Diamede, curiosity written all over his face. "You wanted to ask something?"

"No no, it's fine, trust me. I got my answers already."

_So do I..._

* * *

**I've got an opening. **

**Good. And...**

**Yes?**

**Be gentle.**

* * *

Diamede and the others had talked for about thirty minutes after school before parting ways. Sam, Mikaela and Miles had all been really friendly to Diamede, which was warmly welcomed and reciprocated. When she had finally left, she went over to Bridget's to do homework.

Unfortunately, she hadn't realized it was now six-thirty, and darkness was nearly set. Grabbing her things and saying goodbye, she took a step outside and turned down the sidewalk.

There was a crispness in the air; a slight chill that made Diamede a bit homesick. Right now, she'd hear the crunch of snow beneath her boots; the sky would be pitch black, with a blanket of white everywhere she looked.

Pulling out her mp3 player, Diamede flipped through some music to find a Christmas song. She could care less that it had long since passed - she felt like listening to Jingle Bell Rock, and no one could say otherwise.

Lost to the world around her, Diamede only became aware things weren't right when she felt a needle pierce her shirt and embed itself in the thick muscle joining her neck and left shoulder blade. Crying out, she felt her knees give way. Trying to catch herself, her left arm fell out to try and brace her, but ended up landing on her funny bone, causing her to cry out again. Rolling onto her right side, her right hand came up to try and rip the needle out of her body. She really began to panic when her fingers felt numb, and she couldn't grip it.

She could feel tears of fear and panic gathering at her eyes and falling down to the sidewalk. Eventually she got a grip on the needle, but could barely find the strength to pull it out. Her vision began to blur, and the tension drained from her body.

Diamede was barely conscious, but she felt a weight on her left arm, and a small tug on her back. With her vision gone, she had no idea what was going on, but felt strong arms pick her up. Even as she lost touch with reality, she could only feel the warm tears streaming from her eyes, and something wiping them away.

* * *

**End note:** haha jk i finished editting this one early, so here: two chapters in one night. I got this :'D


	5. In The Beginning

**Author's Note:** Update ahoy!

Do enjoy c:

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Transformers. All non-canonical characters belong to their respective owners.

_Warnings:_ Language.

* * *

**In The Beginning**

Corrupted Files

Date, Location, Time: . . .

Unknown.

* * *

**Diamede's shoulder **_**hurt**_. **Like, it **_**really fucking hurt**_**.**

It was awful; she couldn't begin to describe it. It was obvious there was _some_ drug in her system, trying to ease the pain, but it wasn't strong enough. If anything, because her body was trying to distract her, it made her focus on the pain much more.

She could feel that she was seated, but reclined. It was a nice, soft chair; like the ones people could almost fall asleep in at one of those furniture stores. There was a blindfold over her eyes, tied snugly, but not too tight. Her entire left arm didn't hurt too much until she tried to move it; it was nothing like her shoulder, but the proximity made it stupid to try. Instead, she opted to reach up with her right hand.

"Please, don't,"

She froze. That voice was... familiar. She knew it, but from where?

"I want to ask a couple simple questions. I want you to lift one finger for 'yes,' and two for 'no.' Understand?"

Diamede lowered her right hand to the armrest, holding one finger up.

"Good. Are you in pain?"

Yes.

"In your shoulder?"

Yes.

"Elsewhere?"

Yes. She motioned to her left arm, and knees.

"I figured as much. I'm sorry, really. Your shoulder and arm are going to hurt for a little while; you landed on it pretty bad; not enough to break or fracture, but the tendon in your elbow may have torn slightly."

There was the sound of a chair being pulled across a linoleum floor; Diamede could feel a presence to her right side, and tilted her head that way. When the voice spoke again, it was much quiet, more ... fatherly.

"Until I know your intentions, I can't let you see, or know, anything. I ask that you be as cooperative as possible, so we get this figured out as soon as possible. Understand?"

Yes.

"Good. Now, yes or no: you are ... "Diamede," yes?"

She nodded.

"But that's not your given name."

She was still. Again, she nodded.

"Do you prefer your given or middle name?"

For a moment, she thought. If this was an official interrogation, there was probably protocol to be followed. She held out her hand, palm up. Giving it a wave in the voice's direction, the pieces clicked, and it copied her. She felt a rough palm near her hand. Using her pointer finger, she carefully and slowly spelled her answer.

i-d-o-n-t-m-i-n-d

"Alright. It's.. bu-thay-nah?"

No.

The voice was quiet for a moment; this wasn't unexpected. People could never pronounce her name right; Diamede was much easier.

"Bu-tay-nah?"

Yes.

"Alright, Buthaynah," the voice said; Diamede could almost hear the proverbial clap of 'Let's get started' in it. "Do you know why you're here?"

No.

"Can you recall anything that _might_ be why?"

Diamede was quiet. She laid her head back on the chair, slinking into the darkness of closed eyes. This was probably about those damn robots. She _knew_ it - she fucking _knew_ it!

Yes.

"You can speak now - tell me what you think may be it."

"Only if you answer my question first,"

There was a pause. Whoever was with her was obviously weighing this.

"What is the question?"

"Were you watching for this? For someone to search something they shouldn't have?"

"That would depend,"

"It's a yes or no question." Diamede retorted, her brows pressing down in annoyance. Again, the voice went quiet.

"Yes."

"Those alien robots. I searched it up a few days ago."

There was a quiet rustle of clothes. The man sitting next to her must've sat up straight, or was taken aback. Diamede tilted her head in his direction, just slightly. "We call them 'Transformers.'"

"... How much do you know?"

"Enough to get me in trouble."

* * *

For a good twenty minutes, Diamede just talked. The voice didn't stop her; it didn't scoff, or laugh, or interrupt in any way. The man just listened, quietly - patiently. She was waiting for the unbelieving chuckle, and dismissive banter. Something to make her just sound like a clinically insane nutcase. But there was nothing. Just a strangely... companionable silence.

When she finished, she laid her head back, relaxing herself as best she could. She couldn't help the shivers in her legs, and did her best to suppress them.

"How do you know this?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Diamede mumbled forlornly, turning her head away.

"Try me."

With a sigh, Diamede began again. She explained the movie, and all she could remember. Sam buying the car, finding out it was a giant alien robot -with a humourours confession along with it; the good guys finding and helping him, the secret government people who kept the "cube-rock thing." Again, there was no response. Well, until _that_ part came up.

"Look... I can't... I can't explain this any better than I'm not _supposed_ to be here. In this... I don't know, "reality," I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what I said. When I woke up Sunday, everything I knew, the "reality" I knew, didn't exist. It all changed - to this. And yes, I'm well aware I sound insane. But there is no other way to explain it."

Diamede tilted her head towards the voice. "I just want to know _why_."

She heard the sound of a chair moving, just slightly. There was a sudden proximity to her head, and she couldn't help but shy away. That is, until she felt two rough hands graze her ears, reaching around the undo the knot behind her head.

As soon as the blindfold was removed, Diamede's eyes pinched shut. She brought her right hand up, shielding them, and giving them each a brief rub. She relaxed her eyelids, allowing the light to filter through. After a moment she slowly cracked them open, letting them adjust, before opening them more. Finally, after about two minutes, she felt adjusted enough to the light. Opening her eyes fully, she turned to see who had been questioning her.

And suddenly, she really couldn't find it in her to breath.

* * *

**End note:** ta-da :'D!

Do not expect any updates tomorrow, unfortunately. I'm going to be insanely busy getting ready for my homecoming banquet uwu! I should be able to post something on Sunday, if I can manage.


	6. Help From High Places

**Author's Note:** I apologize for that cliff hanger, but it was a necessary evil! And it currently wasn't the last one we'll have, either.

Thank you for all the support and reviews; it means a lot! I'm trying to get the redone chapter of WiaF up, as well as a possible other fic I've been meaning to write for over a year now.

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Transformers; all non-canonical characters belong to their respective owners.

_Warnings:_ Language.

* * *

**Help From High Places**

Corrupted Files

Date, Location, Time: . . .

Unknown.

* * *

**To say she couldn't find her breath was a monumental understatement.**

A strong hand held her right shoulder loosely, and gave a slight shake.

"Diamede?"

Shaken from her stupor, Diamede blinked back tears. Her right hand came up to cover her eyes, and her head ducked down. She really was trying to stay strong, to get through this, but it was rapidly becoming too much. Damn it all, she had _known_ she heard that voice somewhere before.

"This is a nightmare," she whined, her voice cracking and ugly with held back sobs. Her throat ached with the effort. "This is all a damn _nightmare_."

"Hey now, it's going to be alright," Major Lennox said quietly, trying to console her. His hands hovered nearby, unsure of what to do. Comforting Annabel was easy because she was barely a year old - he wasn't so sure about a sixteen year old who was clearly distraught.

"How?" Diamede shouted, her head shooting upwards, and making him step back. "_How_ do you know? How can _you_ help _me_, when I can't help myself?!"

Will was quiet. "Look I...I don't know, but we'll figure something out. Let me go talk to some people, I'll see what I can do."

Diamede watched through teary eyes as Lennox got up, heading for the door. It opened into a hallway, where he turned to the left, and spoke with someone. He moved out of the way, and walked down the hall. Another soldier came into the room, a juice box and four saltines on a napkin. The soldier looked awkward, and out of place, but he set the food and drink down on the table, before stepping back.

"How long was I out?" Diamede asked, her voice quiet and rough.

"About five hours, miss." he replied.

Dia went quiet, cradling her head in her hands. She was hungry, and thirsty, but right now, she just needed contact comfort. And frankly, this was the best she could do - but what she wouldn't give to be home with her mom and dad.

"Would you... like me to stay?" the soldier asked. When Diamede looked up, his head was tilted slightly - and she be damned if that wasn't genuine concern on his face.

"Please, thank you," she sighed, taking a shaky breath to compose herself.

* * *

Diamede wasn't too sure how long she'd been sitting there with the soldier guarding the door. She had composed herself enough, and her eyes and nose had since lost their pink blush from her tears. Making an educated guess, she assumed she'd been sitting there for at least thirty or forty-five minutes. She had since eaten the crackers and drank her juice, and was now reclining in the chair, holding her tired head up against the backs of her fingers.

The door opened, and Dia's eyes snapped open; the guard turned and quickly stood at attention. Lennox nodded, dismissing him without a word. Lennox looked a little haggard, if Diamede could be a judge; he came forward, turned a chair around, and sat down in front of her chair.

"I... I talked to my superiors," he began.

"I don't want sugar coating - please," Diamede said, her voice still quiet, and weak.

The major seemed to contemplate her words. His head dropped for a second, before coming back up to look at her.

"I spoke with them; they're not happy. Biggest concern is your story, and its legitimacy,"

"Not surprised..." Dia huffed under her breath.

"But, they also realize that there is no other possible way for you know what you do. I mean, if you had just randomly inputted something into that search, and truly didn't know anything, this would've never happened. We were careful with our clean-up; you know what you know because you had to have seen it."

"You... you believe me?"

Will opened his mouth, but it slowly shut. It was written on his face: he didn't, and he was trying to figure out how to put it nicely.

"Look, while I may not believe your _story_," he replied, his voice guarded. "I do believe _you_. The way you talked, so sure of yourself - that's not something you just fake. So, sure, I guess I kinda-sorta believe you."

"I can... understand that,"

"I'm glad, because I have no idea how else I could've convinced you."

"Major, what about my family?" Diamede asked, her brows dropping. "This couldn't have gone unnoticed."

"A-about that..." Will mumbled. He sounded unsure of himself, and he sat back in his seat. "They uh... do you remember seeing a soldier leaving your home?"

"Yeah, yesterday. Why?"

"That was our alibi for this. Now, don't get mad at me - this wasn't my idea. As far as your parents are concerned, you left about eight hours ago for an evaluation camp."

"What does that mean?"

"It's, well... We told them that you wanted to check out the military - like your father. So we made up a story about a camp that works sort of like an ROTC program mixed with a youth academy."

"You told my parents that I- _why_ would they believe that? I'd never make it in the military!" Diamede stammered, trying to make sense.

"Well, they seemed convinced. Why do you think you wouldn't make it?"

"I don't have the heart for it," Diamede replied quickly. Quicker than she should have, too. Lennox gave her a wary eye, but better judgment reigned him in, and he refrained from delving too deep.

"Alright, well," he continued. "That's what they think. You're gone for three weeks to live as a soldier would - total immersion. And so you don't get behind, we promised to keep up with your classes as well."

"There has to be more," Diamede said sharply. "My parents know - my dad was military, you agreed. He knows me, knows I wouldn't have the physical capability to do what soldiers do."

"That's the ugly beauty of a lie. This evaluation camp will teach you just a fraction of the things a soldier can do. Think of it like... Like a personality test - you know, those online ones that say what job would best suit you, based on your answers?"

"So it's a trial thing. See what I like and then...?"

"Cover stories aren't easy, Diamede," Will sighed. "This evaluation time will be you "picking a possible career option with the military," after which you can "decide whether or not you wish to remain in the program.""

"You just used air-quotes." she pointed out, her expression dropping.

"Well, let's just say that for a while, you've been... oh, let's say "grounded" from the democratic process."

Diamede's shoulders rose indignantly. "That's not fair! You're keeping me here, wherever this is, and I get no _say_?"

"Look at it from my position," Will countered. "I don't want to keep you here - you're sixteen, you should be out with your friends. But you know things that are _classified_ and a matter of _national security_. Do you really think we can just let you walk out of here with a pinky promise, cross your heart?"

Dia flinched away from his slightly raised tone. He had a point, she knew that, but it wasn't fair! This was still America - she had her rights, too.

"Argue freedom of whatever all you want, Diamede," Lennox continued, his voice lowered again. "But when someone knows something that could endanger millions of people - on a global scale - we tend to buckle down a little more."

Honestly, there was nothing she could do to counter him. He was speaking the truth - it wasn't fair, but it was the truth. Her shoulders dropped, and she remained silent in acquiescence.

"Here, come with me, I'll take you to the infirmary. You can sleep there till we get this all worked out."

Lifting a brow, Diamede stood up, as did Lennox, and he lead the way to the door. As before, it opened into a pristine hall way with bright fluorescent lights. The guard from earlier stood with another, conversing about a game or something. Diamede tailed closely after Lennox, who headed to the left from the door and straight ahead.

When they got to the end of the hall, it split off in two directions. Lennox went to the right, and Diamede noted the arrows pointing that direction saying "Infirmary," "Mess Hall," and "Atrium." They passed a few doors, including the mess hall, till they came to the infirmary itself.

Inside, a woman who appeared to be in her early 50s sat at a desk, one leg crossed over the other as she typed something into the computer. When the door opened, she turned, and stood to greet her guests.

"Ah, Major Lennox. This is our newest "recruit," is it?" she chuckled, her voice warm and welcoming - like that of a nurturing grandmother.

"Yes she is, Doctor. Diamede," he said, turning to look at her. "This is doctor Lillian Peterson, our head physician. Never met a doctor finer than she."

"You flatter me, William - it's unnecessary. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Tankian," came Lillian's reply, with an extended hand towards Diamede.

Taken aback, Diamede gave her a wary eye before slowly lifting her hand to shake the doctor's. Lillian caught on, and laughed warmly.

"I was told your name before hand; I spent six months in Armenia as a missionary when I was a wee little girl with my parents. I may be old, but I recall a thing or two."

"I... apologize, I'm just not used to it. People can never pronounce my names correctly."

Will lifted a brow. "That why you prefer being called Diamede?"

"When your teacher has to try four times to pronounce your name right every day during attendance," Dia replied in a deadpan, "You'll understand."

The major chuckled. "I'll take your word. Well, for now, you'll be staying here - just until we can get you set somewhere permanent. Again, I'm really sorry we had to do this, Diamede - it's for the protection of everyone."

"I understand. And, major?" Dia said, watching him as he began to head for the door.

"Hm?"

"Dia works, too,"

Will gave a curt, good-natured snort. "So does Will."

* * *

**Major, I called her parents - they're still none the wiser.**

**Excellent - good work, Bee.**

**I do not like this - lying feels so... dirty.**

**Because sneaking up on her, shooting her with a needle, and scaring her to the Pit and back is not?**

**That was **_**not**_** my idea! I did not even-**

**Hey, hey now. It was all we had at the time - she's been debriefed, and understands the situation. No harm done.**

**No harm d-**

**Ratchet. Enough; I trust the major's judgment.**

**... Oh, fine. But I still do not like this.**

**Neither do I, but we do what we must.**

* * *

End Note: nothing to say!


	7. Guidelines for the Incarcerated

**Author's Note: **School, school, and more school. Thank you for all the kind reviews, though - they truly make my days.

Yet another chapter, for your pleasure c:

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Transformers; all non-canonical characters belong to their respective owners.

_Warnings:_ None.

* * *

**Guidelines for the Incarcerated**

19th of January, 2008

Military Base, Nevada, USA

Local Time: 0930 hours; 9:30 AM

* * *

**The room was... gone.**

There was just nothingness. There was no floor, nor walls; no_ nothing_. Blackness as far as she could see, yet it still seemed to be light. And Diamede... well, she was just floating there - held aloft by some force. Confused, Diamede looked around for something - anything - she could grab on to. No such luck was awarded her, and a flash of light had her head whipping back to look in front of her.

There, not too far in front of her, was a... puzzle piece? Diamede's brow rose, and carefully, she reached out for it.

When she brought it closer for inspection, she couldn't help but weigh it in her hand. The piece itself was at least 6 inches from edge to edge, and weighed about as much as an iPod. She tilted her head, moving it around and just feeling its weight. It was a nice thing, to finally hold something while feeling near-weightless. However, upon closer observation, she realized that the seemingly opaque grey surface was actually a moving picture. It looked like swirling black clouds, but beneath them, she could make out lines. They were almost like silhouettes.

All Diamede did was blink, and the piece was gone. Taken aback, she looked around, seeing nothing but the emptiness of her void. There were faint whispers, and then, nothing.

* * *

Diamede awoke with a quiet start. She was greeted by white sheets and a white pillow; curtains hung beyond that, pulled back to reveal a row of four more beds, all made without a wrinkle. Quiet talking drew her attention, and Diamede's curiosity was piqued.

"Truly? That seems so... odd, though."

"So say many specialists," came Doctor Peterson's hushed replied. Diamede couldn't name the other voice. "Sleep is an odd thing, but necessary. I have a few friends who would probably bend over backwards to figure out why deep sleep is so important."

"Beyond memory function, you mean?"

A quiet chuckle, "Well, yes; it's a fascinating thing to study. If you don't fall asleep while doing so, that is,"

The conversation quickly stopped. Internally, Diamede tensed. Relief came when the second voice spoke up again.

"It would seem I am being called. Thank you for indulging me, Mrs. Peterson,"

"Anytime, dear,"

Diamede heard the door open, and a quiet 'oh.'

"Good morning, Major Lennox."

"You too, doc,"

Dia sat up as the door closed, twisting to see Lennox and Lillian looking towards her.

"Sleep well?" Will asked, bemused.

"Enough, I guess. The bed's more comfortable than I thought."

"I imagine you didn't just come to have tea and chat, William," Dr. Peterson said, her brow rising in question.

"No, but, I do have news," he began. He grabbed a chair, and pulled it over to the side of Diamede's bed. She obliged by swinging her legs around to rest them on the floor, but drew them back immediately when the cold shocked her toes.

"I talked with my superiors. Like I said, still not thrilled, but they've moved from "This is a stupid idea," to "Maybe we can make it work.""

"That's... good?"

"It is. They're really dragging their feet about this, but it's come to the point where we have no other option. So, as much as I don't like it, we need you to stay, if only for a while. But, there are some stipulations to that."

"And those are?"

"One: you will need a full physical and psychological evaluation. Dr. Peterson can do the physical, and we have a psychologist here. Two: under _no_ circumstances, emergencies notwithstanding, are you to _ever_ leave the base without express permission and a chaperone. Three: you are, for the time being, not allowed any unauthorized contact. Meaning no phones, and no computers from off-base. And four..." he trailed.

"Four?" Dia echoed.

"You are utterly and totally responsible for what you do here. You're here at our expense. Normally, since you're 16, you're still a minor, so a court would go easy on you. Because of the high security here, you _will_ be tried as an _adult_."

Diamede lowered her head, looking at her crossed legs. The rules made sense, really, and what other options did she have? Say 'no, that doesn't work for me, sorry?' She lifted a hand to run it over her face, breathing deeply once before looking back to Will.

"Alright, I understand. Not that I have a real choice, but I understand."

Will gave a brief smile, and a small nod. "Good, I'm glad."

"If I may...?"

"Shoot,"

"The... the bots - will I...?"

Will looked slightly taken back. His eyes averted her gaze in thought, and his brow creased as well. After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know, really. I suppose, since you already know, telling you 'no' would be... well, stupid. But really, Diamede, that just makes things so much more complicated. And by "complicated," I really do mean _complicated_. Everyone on this base was hand-picked specifically because we knew they could be trusted with this secret. No one outside us or our watch list is supposed to know..."

"Watch list?" Diamede asked.

"It's a small list of families who know. Namely, it's my teams' family, and my own. Even then, it's restricted to spouses, maybe a mom, dad or sibling - it's a very short list."

Diamede hummed in acknowledgement. She supposed that list now included her; in some "don't let this girl out of your sight for a nanosecond" clause, surely. Truthfully, the last thing she wanted to do was give them _more_ reason to keep her tied down, but what other option did she have? She needed answers, and the chances of her getting any back home were slim to none.

"I assume I'll be able to convince the general that not letting you see them is like telling a kid that the candy bowl isn't there when they're staring straight at it. But right now, only t- well..." Lennox trailed off. He was quiet for a moment. "Well, Ratchet's here."

"Uh... If it's all the same to you, I would rather ... _not_ meet their, uh, "true" bodies, just yet."

Will looked at Diamede with an expression of total confusion. She sighed, and scratched the side of her neck in embarrassment.

"I have megalophobia: the fear of large things."

Realization hit, and Lennox just mouthed "oh." He looked over to Peterson, who had a knowing smile. His brow rose again, both he and Diamede watching her as she turned to pick up her phone, and call someone.

"Yes, I hate to bother, but would you be a dear and come back? There's someone I want you to meet."

Diamede gave a questioning look to Lennox, who replied in a whisper, "Just wait."

Within two minutes, the door to the infirmary opened again. Dia's face lifted in realization as she watched the new stranger walk through, and straight to the doctor.

"Diamede, this is Ratchet," Lillian said, sweeping her hand towards Dia.

Ratchet's hologram turned, and she couldn't help but be struck by how _blue_ his eyes were.

He had a kindly face - that of a doctor who had worked with all people of all ages. It was middle-aged; smile lines and wrinkles were beginning to form, and the sideburns of his strawberry blonde hair were becoming white. He had an average height, perhaps five-foot-ten, if Diamede could guess. To top off the grandfatherly ambiance, he had slight chub of belly, dressed in slacks and a nice cardigan.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Diamede," _Christ_ he even had that warm, welcoming voice that doctor's seemed to have down to an art.

"Um... you, too," Diamede mumbled, her chin tucking inward subconsciously. She could recall bits of information from her brothers: there were certain fan ideas that the holograms, or pretenders, or whatever they were called were used as disguises. She also remembered they said they liked the idea that the disguises were actual robots, taking on human appearances. That thought alone made Diamede tense; a robot with a human's face was still a robot - still as powerful.

"I apologize," Ratchet said, tilting his head. "You are anxious - I assure you, I will do you no harm."

"How can you...?"

"Biochemical readings," he replied with a chuckle. "That and you tensed when you realized just what I was. But, as I said, I would not hurt you."

"Ratchet here, if you don't recall, is the chief medical officer," Will explained. "If you need to know anything about anything Cybertronian, he's got an answer for you."

"And he has quite the extensive knowledge on human physiology, as well," Lillian piped in.

Diamede narrowed an eye. "You were talking to each other earlier, weren't you?"

"We were. Ratchet was talking to me about sleep - he noticed you were out cold, but twitching and moving about."

"From what I know," the pseudo-doctor began, "You were in the REM stage of sleep - dreaming. I inquired about it with Doctor Lillian."

"That's not creepy at all," Diamede muttered, both eyes narrowing this time. Will chuckled.

"Trust me, they've gotten better, but don't be surprised if they haven't gotten all the social etiquette down."

"Oh, yeah!" Diamede snapped her fingers, "I remember that in the movie! With the whole- oh, you know what I mean."

The major and Peterson gave her questioning looks, but Ratchet caught on and laughed outright.

"I do, but they do not."

"I don't think I want to know," Lillian said, bemused, taking a seat at her desk.

"If I may, Diamede," Ratchet intoned. "Have we done something that has caused you distress? To make you fearful, that is."

"You? No, not you," she sighed. "Like this, I'm fine. I mean, it's still a bit unnerving knowing I'm talking to a... not-human, but I don't think I'm ready to meet your true bodies, yet."

"See, when I was a little girl - four, I think - I lived in Alaska. It's a gorgeous state, with a lot of wildlife. My parents and I were hiking, and we stopped for a picnic. I wandered into the woods a little bit, picking flowers. I wasn't paying attention, and the next thing I knew, I was staring down a huge bull moose. Luckily my dad scared it off, but I just never got over it, you know?"

"Ah, I see."

"I mean, maybe in time, we'll see? I just... Not today." she laughed nervously.

"It is no trouble, trust me. I will not force you to do something like that and risking causing you distress."

"Thank you," Diamede sighed, genuinely grateful for his understanding.

"Well, the day's still young, how about a tour?" Lennox chimed in. "Ratchet can come, too."

Dia shrugged. "Might as well, right?"

* * *

**She is a pleasant human; very civil, and understanding. Curious, too.**

**Oh **_**goody**_**, just what we need.**

**C'mon, you can't say you're not a **_**little**_** curious, Ironhide.**

**Oh, but I can.**

**'M with Bee on this one, old timer. Little lady sounds like fun.**

**Three to one, 'Hide. You're out-matched.**

**Last I recall, we weren't a democracy, **_**scout**_**.**

**Hey!**

Ratchet laughed openly, as did his guest. This would be an eventful few weeks.

* * *

**End Note:** I should have another chapter up soon. I've got a lot of writing muse right now, so I'm going to try and milk it for as long as I can :'D

Thank you for all the support - it's greatly appreciated!


	8. Tutelage

**Author's Note:** And another chapter~

I apologize if things seem to be going slowly, but that's intentional. I didn't do the best job before of showing Diamede's megalophobia, so I'm trying to do that now. So, here we are!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Transformers; all non-canonical characters belong to their respective owners.

_Warnings:_ Language

* * *

**Tutelage**

21st of January, 2008

Military Base, Nevada, USA

Local Time: 1130 Hours; 11:30 AM

* * *

**Diamede stood in the door way, taking in her quaint little room.**

Lennox explained that this base was built in a different fashion than most. Its original purpose was that of a secret facility, built during the Red Scare of the late fifties. It was meant to hold its personnel for extended periods of time, with little to almost no breaks. One of the commanding officer's quarters was designed to serve a dual purpose as both an office and bedroom.

Since it was so out of the way, it had been used as a sort of short-term storage facility. Most of the boxes that remained in it were all spare parts that were gathering dust. He pulled a few strings, had them moved to an actual storage unit, and the room cleaned up. It was given a technical check over, too, and all the water and electrical systems had checked out.

True to his words, it wasn't terribly big. The office part was rectangular in shape: the door connected to the hall and the rest of the building. It was at least twenty feet long and about fifteen feet wide, if Diamede could make a guess. The wall opposite of the door had two single-paned windows, whose blinds were drawn up to let in the sun. There was a desk in between them, with an old style chair tucked in. On the wall to the left of the door was a small bookshelf with a painting of an autumn forest hanging above it. There was another, slightly larger bookshelf on the same wall as the door, but both were empty.

On the far wall to Diamede's right was the door to the bedroom. She walked over, grasping the handle and opening it to look inside.

The bedroom was about half the size of the office: it had a single twin-sized bed tucked against the far upper corner, a dresser to the left of that, and another door which led to a half-bath. Diamede's brows rose for a moment. It was a lot nicer than she expected, if a little bland. Save the one painting, the walls were the same dull light grey, and the blinds were the standard off-white. The office floor was bland, dark grey linoleum, but the bedroom was carpeted; it looked like the ones her school had.

"Enjoying your new room?"

Diamede started, turning around to see Ratchet standing just inside the door, watching her with a smile.

"I guess. It's a little... boring for my tastes."

"We make do with what we have," Ratchet replied, walking towards the desk. One hand came up from his side to rest on its surface, and his face looked almost... reverent? As if he was imagining the face of the men past who had sat behind that same desk, giving orders and filing reports. His eyes flicked to the side, locking with Diamede's. He stood up straight, facing her. "I imagine you can make it more "decorative," in time."

Diamede shrugged, glancing at the walls. "Sure, with paper, a pencil, and maybe some paint."

"You draw?"

"I've... drabbled, yeah."

Ratchet hummed in thought. "I would very much like to see some of your work some time."

"Maybe one day, doc," Dia laughed. Truthfully, she never was very optimistic about her art; she tended to keep it to herself, afraid of the criticism she might receive. "I've been meaning to ask you, though: where's your uh... boss? I don't know what you call him."

"Optimus is a Prime," Ratchet said with a chuckle, taking a few steps closer, crossing his arms over his chest. "On Cybertron, we had two leaders. The Lord High Protector was the supreme military commander; it was their job to protect Cybertron and to aide in the stewardship of the Allspark. A Prime, conversely, is the supreme civilian and spiritual leader of our people."

"Spiritual? Like... he's a president and a pope all in one?" Diamede asked, tilting her head.

"I... no," Ratchet said, sounding somewhat befuddled. "A Prime is not voted into power - they are born into it. All Primes have a special glyph carved onto the left side of their head. And I would not go so far as to liken them to your popes. They do serve a sort of religious purpose, though."

"You guys have a god?" Diamede couldn't help the look of surprise. She didn't remember any religious babble from her brothers.

Ratchet laughed at her astonishment. "Yes, we do. It would be more apt to say there are three forms of religion on Cybertron. One may believe that it was Primus who gave us the Allspark; one may believe the Allspark is all that ever was, or, one may believe in neither."

"An atheist, in essence," Dia said with a lifted brow.

"That would be it essentially, yes. We do know for certain that the Allspark created the original Primes, the rest of our people, and every succeeding Prime since."

"Sounds a hell of a lot easier than _our_ religions," Diamede deadpanned.

"You humans have very intriguing religions, I say. The, ah, "disagreements" you have had in the past are a bit..."

"Disagreements? That's putting it mildly," Dia snorted. "What do you believe?"

"Me?" Ratchet looked up in thought. "Honestly, I have more faith in the Allspark than any figure who may have created it. The Allspark is- was... tangible. You could see it; feel its energy and power. Maybe it is just the scientific part of me, but I enjoy the reality of evidence."

"If only it were so easy in our case."

"If only. I did not answer your question, though. Optimus is our commander; militarily, he would be in the same position as your president - total control over all Autobot forces. To oppose him is both asinine, and a sure way to make many enemies very quickly."

"That protective of the big bot, are you?"

Ratchet tucked his chin in, his sharp blue eyes locking with Diamede's in a warm but stern look. "You have not the faintest idea, my girl. He is our Prime, and our commander, but above that, he is a very old friend."

"Oh, uh..." Diamede stammered. "I didn't mean it like that,"

"I know. He is currently on a mission; I cannot say when he will be back, however."

"Within a week, I'd say,"

Diamede and Ratchet turned their heads to the door; Lennox stood there, arms crossed and leaning against the door frame. He stood up straight and walked over, nodding to Ratchet, who returned the gesture.

"Can't say much beyond that; but we managed to find you a tutor." He explained, looking to Diamede.

"A tutor?" Diamede asked, giving him a curious look.

"Yeah, come with me."

Lennox led Diamede and Ratchet out and down the hall towards the mess hall. They passed it, instead heading for the atrium. He swung the two glass doors that separated the hall from the atrium open and stepped inside. Waiting there were the other men from his team. Diamede could easily remember Fig and Burke, the burly bald man, but the others escaped her. The group of men was talking to a younger man dressed in fatigues; he had the lightly hooked nose, dark brown hair and eyes common of Arabic ancestry, but his olive skin was paled enough to be obviously a mix of European blood.

"Diamede, this is Alhasan Johnson: your tutor." Will said, waving a hand in the man's direction.

Diamede stepped forward and Alhasan extended a hand to her.

"_As-salāmu `alayki_," he said, shaking her hand.

Diamede's expression instantly brightened, and a wide smile spread across her face.

"_Wa `alaykumu s-salāmu wa rahmatu l-lāhi wa barakātuh!_" she replied.

He laughed. "_So, you do speak it fluently._"

"_My family has Arabic blood; so yes, I learned when I was young. Turkish and Armenian, too._"

"Well, shit."

Diamede and Alhasan turned to look to Lennox, who held his face in one hand.

"What is it, major?"

"I think I just made two more Figs."

"_¿Estás tratando de__decir algo__, amigo?_"

"Fig-" Will began.

"English!"

* * *

**End Note:** Since I couldn't find translations for those two lines Diamede and Alhasan say in Arabic ("So you... Armenian, too"), I just italicized it and let's pretend it's Arabic uwu; I really do want to learn that language, so bad. Again, I use a translator, so feel free to tell me of any errors I put out there!

*_¿Estás tratando de__decir algo__, amigo?_ = Are you trying to say something, friend?

Anyway, it's a shorty, not a whole lot. Next one will probably be like this, but its heavy with details, and I look forward to writing it! Should be up by tomorrow.


	9. Sleepwalker, Come With Me

**Author's Note:** And here's the next chapter! I apologize for any long delays between chapters; it's not intentional. School is in my final quarter, and I have to scramble to get at least a hundred volunteer hours in as an extra credit so I can graduate (long story short: I didn't find out till the beginning of the year that because I didn't pass one of two classes I failed last year, and my school counselor failed to mention that n_n.)

So yeah okay sorry that's not important~ This chapter is sort of a filler, but it's relatively important, so it's necessary.

Okay let's go!

* * *

**Sleepwalker, Come With Me**

Corrupted Files

Date, Location, Time: . . .

Unknown.

* * *

**The ground beneath her was rough and rocks poked at her arms and back.**

Wait... rocks?

Diamede's eyes shot open with a startled gasp. She sat upright quickly, scrambling a bit. She hissed in pain as her hand landed sharply on a rock, and she pulled it back to inspect it. Befuddled, she looked to the ground and saw that she was laying on... cement?

Looking up, Diamede felt her jaw drop.

_Where the hell am I?_

Everything seemed to have an ... ethereal glow to it. It wasn't a bright, noticeable one either. It was subtle, but she was very aware it was there. Somehow, she was lying in the center of an intersection. Each way she looked, tall buildings towered above her. It was a city, but where?

Glancing up to the traffic lights, Dia glanced at the street signs. She tilted her head in confusion; apparently she was at the intersection of Reality and Imagination.

Slowly, she stood up and dusted herself off. Turning every which way, she couldn't see a single soul. All the stores were lit, open, and welcoming, but no one was inside them, nor walking down the sidewalk.

"Hello?" she called out. There was no reply.

"_Hello!_" she said, this time louder. Only her echo greeted her.

Thoroughly confused and bordering on fearful, Diamede headed down Imagination Avenue. She glanced in every building, looking for some sign of life. Again and again she called out with fleeting hope that she'd be answered.

When she reached the end of Imagination, she was at another intersection. Going straight ahead would put her on Cognitive Street; to the left was Conscience Road. But to the right was...

"Puzzle?" Diamede murmured aloud. "All the other names are psychological..."

She looked to the end of the street and saw a simple black building. Like her previous dream, it held the same unreal blackness; it looked like a building, had edges and reflected light, but still very opaque. It had no windows, and only one door; it was a short building, about a story and a half. Tucked right next to each of its sides were two very tall buildings, again, with no people.

Cautiously, Diamede headed for the strange place. She stopped short of the door, and looked wearily at the dark, steel door knob. Slowly, her hand lifted and reached out for it.

_You are here._

Diamede shrieked and turned around, her eyes looking around wildly. "Who said that?!"

_We did._

That... voice seemed to be beneath her. Dia slowly looked down; she gasped sharply and jumped back when standing before her was a large, pure white rat.

It sat on its haunches, tilted its head, and looked at her with pupil-less, glowing silver eyes. The long pink tail flicked around to rest in front of its long pink hind paws.

"What the f- when did rats _talk_?!"

_We are no rat. It is merely a ... vessel. An illusion to give face to a faceless voice; we did not mean to frighten you._

"Yeah, well, where I'm from, rats don't _talk_! And what do you mean "faceless voice?" Who are you?" Diamede said in a rushed manner.

_Relax, dream walker. You have no reason to fear; we wish you no ill will. We do not have a name. We are many, yet we are one._

"Uh huh..." To say Diamede sounded skeptical was a colossal understatement. "Then... what do I call you?"

The rat looked down at the ground in thought. After a brief moment, it brought its head back up.

_Voice: you may call us Voice._

"Aw, really? And here 'Rat' was starting to sound so fitting..." Diamede replied primly.

_We are no rodent, dream walker. This forme will change as time goes on. It will always be something familiar to you, however. That is easier for us to do._

Diamede quirked a brow, and slowly lowered herself to her knees. The rat took a step forward, and sat directly in front of her now, still staring at her, unblinking.

_We know you are confused; we have your answers, if you will listen. This is a dream world - it serves no other purpose other than to be your reprieve from reality. It is entirely your dominion: whatever you will shall be so._

"I don't follow..."

_If you wish to see snow blanket the ground, it will be. If you wish for a palace, grander than any cathedral or castle of Earth, it shall be. This would is for you and you alone; it will do as you will it to. If you wish to be the only thing in it, that too shall be. If you wish for people who greet you like a queen, or a stranger, or to ignore you outright, they shall exist._

"Wait... you're saying I can do anything I want? Like- like if I wanted the streets to be trampolines?"

_Yes. Everything in this world is variable to your desires. Think it, and it shall be so. It will take any shape, any colour, and any appearance you desire. So too shall the people. _

Diamede looked around at the deserted city. The idea was... tantalizing, but also seemed too good to be true. Voice was basically saying that, in her dream, she was a god - able to create and destroy as she saw fit. After a moment, she turned, facing the black building from before.

"And... this place?"

_This is the Atrium. It holds the Puzzle. That is its sole purpose; it will never move, and will never change. You only need think that you are here, and you shall be. _

Diamede stared at the door for a moment before reaching out and pushing on it. It opened silently, and a small burst of chilled air greeted her. She stepped inside; Voice stood next to her right foot, and the door closed.

From above, lights flicked on down a row. The entire inside was empty; no furniture, no windows, nothing. To Diamede's left and right, about seven feet away, were two lit pedestals. When she looked to the left, she let out a gasp.

"Hey! That's the piece from my dream!"

_Yes, it is._

Diamede looked down to Voice. "Why is it here?"

The rat nodded directly in front of them.

Following its line of sight, Dia couldn't help but let out a quiet 'oh' at what she saw.

The back wall of the building had a small alcove embedded in it. All around the frame of the alcove were strange glyphs that Diamede had never seen. They looked as if they were carved in obsidian; black as night but shining from the lights above.

_That, dream walker, is the Puzzle. It is your window; a glimpse into a world you do and do not know. It will aide you in making sense of the times to come._

"Wait, what?"

_When you meet a certain criteria, you will be given a Puzzle piece. When a set of criteria has been achieved, you will be given a glimpse._

"A glimpse of what, exactly?"

_The future._

"Wait, what? How can... _that_ show me the future?"

_Your glimpses are a gift; a gift from one you know not. That one has always had a gift; a gift of seeing potential; he is wise as he is old. You will know of him one day; this talent does him little good now, so he bade us to bestow a portion of it unto you. It is not strong; you cannot observe it at will; only enough to guide you._

_Go on - put the piece in its place._

Diamede shot a cautious look at the rat, before walking over to the pedestal. The piece hovered there, as if by magnetism. She reached out and took it, feeling the familiar weight. Slowly, she began to head for the back wall.

As she got closer, the outline of the piece began to give off a faint glow; observing the wall, Diamede saw another outline. She stepped up the two stairs leading to the alcove, and placed the piece in its spot on the bottom, right next to the left corner spot. There was a faint clicking noise, and the glow disappeared. Feeling something at her side, Dia turned to see the rat looking at her.

Growing a little braver, she reached out, and with one finger, touched its ear. It didn't flinch, nor move, just sat there and watched her.

"Sorry, I was curious."

_We do not mind. It is in your nature to be such._

The rat scampered down the stairs, and Diamede followed it back outside. Everything was still was it had been; the sun was shining, and felt warm on her skin.

_It is time for us to depart. But, before we do so, we have a warning you must heed:_

_Under no circumstance can you make this dream like the world of reality. Do not bring the faces of the living in here; do not bring a familiar home - the more familiar you make it, the more likely you will be lost._

"Lost to what? Reality?"

_Yes. When you cannot distinguish between that which is, and that which is not, you lose yourself - you will fall asleep, never to wake up again._

Diamede looked taken aback. "Don't copy reality, I can do that."

_Good. We, too, are a variable - we shall change our shape when we desire. Do not always presume you will see us as such. Now, we leave you to your world. Do with it as you will, but always watch your guard._

The rat turned around, and scampered down the sidewalk. Diamede watched for a few seconds, but after she blinked, it was gone. Unsure of what to do, she looked back in front of her. The street went straight, left, and right - or, any way she wanted. This was her world, after all.

Closing her eyes, Diamede breathed, and focused. She imagined the sounds of people walking down the sidewalk; talking on the phone, with friends, or in silence. Cars drove past with their tires crunching on the rocks, and birds chirped in the air. And for a moment, it wasn't like she was _imagining_ them, but they were actually _there_.

When she opened her eyes, her hand flew up to cover her mouth in shock.

There_ were_ people, of all shapes, sizes and ethnicity; cars were driving and birds sang. Little children grasped their parents hands, teenagers were shopping in the stores - it was like an actual, living, breathing city.

"Morning, dreamer,"

"Hey, dreamer!"

"Good day, dreamer."

Diamede looked around; a few people waved as they past, greeting her and saying good morning.

_This... this is going to take some getting used to._

* * *

**End Note:** Ahhh this is more of a filler chapter, but necessary again. I wanted to make a chapter solely dedicated to Dia's dream world, and it got a little Inception-y while writing it uwu

No, but seriously, the brain is_fascinating._ Next chapter should come soon!


	10. Fight or Flight

**Author's Note:** SO!

I haven't forgotten about you all, trust me. If you really want to know why it takes me so long to write new chapters: I do A LOT of writing for skeleton chapters for OoK. I tend to put a lot of thought in what I want the next chapter of something to be. Considering I now have a lot more free time, chapters should come more frequently. Cause, hey! I graduated high school, and got a job :D!

I'm also MUCH more active on my tumblr (pneumanic). If you follow me, send me an ask and let me know who you are! I may not reblog a log of Transformers, but it's a menagerie of video games, movies, and other what-nots that I enjoy. I apologize for my sporadic posting; I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. It's proving a little difficult, and with work, things may not be posted when I say they will. I'll work on it, though!

Okay, enough of my rambling - to the story!

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Transformers; all non-canonical characters belong to their respective owners.

_Warnings:_ Language.

* * *

**Fight or Flight**

24th of January, 2008

Military Base, Nevada, USA

Local Time: 1045; 10:45 AM

* * *

**To say her dreams had been weird was an understatement of monumental proportions.**

The inky darkness with nothing to occupy it had been unnerving at first. But now, this ... dream world kicked it up a whole other level. After her previous escapade with - what was it, Voice? - three days earlier, Diamede wasn't exactly eager to go back just yet.

Instead, she had distracted herself with the tutor. Alhasan had proved to be smarter than Diamede originally thought. Their first day has been much like any school; they learned about each other more than any lesson. He told her he had been born in Canada, but his parents immigrated to the US when he was one year old. He'd grown up in Arizona; his parents had been keen on teaching him and his younger sister about their heritage. So, as they grew, they learned both English and Arabic.

They had also been raised on basic Muslim principles, but their parents had never really forced the religion on them. They were expected to know it, and abide by it when visiting Muslim neighbours. Diamede, in turn, told him of Alaska and Armenia. Most of their conversations were in Arabic, and Diamede was actually truly grateful. Being surrounded by a bunch of men and women who were almost always serious began to really drain Diamede. Alhasan was a bright spot; something she looked forward to. Well, even if it _was_ to go back to school.

"Miss... um,"

Startled, Diamede whirled around from looking out her window, hand flying to her chest. Her guest, a young woman with short, cropped auburn hair, put her hands up defensively.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you... miss-"

"Tankain," she supplied.

"Yes, Miss Tankain. I'm Private Abigail Morris," Abigail replied, clutching a portfolio to her chest and offering her hand to Diamede.

Diamede took it tentatively, giving her a curt but firm shake. Abigail stood up straight and tucked the portfolio under her arm.

"I didn't mean to startle you, again - sorry. I was asked by the Major to come see you. He said something about meeting Ratchet, but... I thought you already have,"

"In a manner of speaking," Diamede muttered, rolling her wrist. "I've met his holo... gram? Form? I don't remember what he called it."

"_Oh_! I know what you mean - that makes sense." Abigail laughed, brushing her hair back behind her ears. "In that case, I assume you're _really_ meeting him."

Diamede gave a quiet, forced chuckle. "Yeah... have you? Met them, I mean,"

"Mm, not yet," Abigail said, shaking her head. "I've spoken with them, but I'm still relatively new here. Normal protocol dictates we're not allowed contact for the first three months; first eye-to-eye contact takes longer."

Diamede lifted a brow. They'd only been here about a year and already had regulations for how long someone had to be around to speak with them? She had thrown that protocol out the window within a day of being here.

"But, I guess you're an exception," came a chuckle. "Ah, well. I have to get back to work, but I was asked to direct you to the hangar."

"Oh, alright,"

In the past three days, Diamede had been given a pair of pants and a couple t-shirts she could wear for the time being. Not exactly her typical wear, but she could make due. Dia followed Abigail out of the room and down the hall towards the main atrium. Outside, she was greeted by a warm breeze and a cloudless sky. Having spent her entire life in a colder climate, Diamede was still growing used to the heat. It only took a few moments before she felt overwhelmed.

The hangar was a good five minute walk from the main building. While that hardly seemed like much, the intense sun blazing down on the tarmac didn't help. As they approached the building, Diamede saw the large main doors were opened.

"I have to go, but it was nice to meet you! Also, you can just head in. There should be a couple soldiers, but nothing too special. Just don't touch anything. Bye, Diamede!" Abigail said, turning on her heel and heading back for the main building.

Diamede watched her for a moment before turning back to the building. Heaving a sigh, she headed for the open doors. As she rounded the corner, she nearly tripped on the raised cement. Cursing as she caught herself, Diamede stood straight, and made her first mistake:

She looked up.

It took a good ten seconds for her brain to register what she saw. It took about a fraction of a second for her to scream and turn around, covering her eyes. She could _hear_ metal sliding on cement, _felt_ it take a step back in surprise. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest, and began to drown out any other sound. She could feel the blood rushing away from her face; shaking, she braced herself against the hangar wall, trying to control her breathing.

A concerned voice, muffled by the ringing in her ears, called out. The ground shook slightly, but another voice gave a sharp command. Everything seemed to stand still in that brief moment; Diamede's legs gave out, and she slid to the ground. Her breathing was laboured and shallow - it felt like nothing was happening and it _scared_ her more.

There was the feeling of someone putting their hands on her, trying to get her to look. Diamede let out a plaintive wail, pulling away and closing in on herself. She could hear her name - _Miss? Miss Tankain - are you alright?!_ - but it was too loud - too close. Her hands flew up to her ears, trying to block out the muffled sounds. The logic centre of her brain was going insane: it demanded she breathe and calm down. It scared her even more when _nothing _seemed to work. She could usually power through these - _why_ weren't her tactics working?

A voice broke the sound of muffled, frantic questions. Two warm hands placed themselves over Diamede's; they didn't grip, didn't hold - they just sat there. The voice was closer, quieter, but still muffled. Slowly, _very _slowly, Diamede's hearing and breathing began to ebb back into normalcy. Her breaths were still shallow, but they began to stretch out; more oxygen was being inhaled than exhaled.

_Diamede?_

The voice sounded murmured, like it came from the body whose hands were on her ears.

"Hey, little lady - come on, look at me, kid,"

Slowly, she forced her muscles to relax enough to let her look up. Her hands fell away from her ears, but remained cradled in two others. She was greeted by the face of a man with a warm smile. Striking blue eyes bore into her own and Diamede felt herself relax more. His face was strong; a firm jaw blanketed by the faintest hint of stubble. His skin was a warm chocolate brown, topped with a head of short, coarse and curly hair, cut close to the head.

"You okay there, little lady?" came the smooth voice. It didn't sound anything like Ratchet's - it was more like a big brother's. Collected and calm, but just enough humour in it to help one feel better.

Dia felt her mouth open, but no sound came out. She closed it with a slight, choked back whimper, and simply nodded her head. She could do this... It was just a man. Not a giant robot.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that," he chuckled. Diamede could feel it from his hands. "I didn't realize you were coming now - would've hidden myself better."

He pulled his hands back, resting them on his thighs. "Take your time, you hear? Don't look until you're ready."

"Who..." _Jesus_, her voice was cracked and weak; she sounded like a three year old. _Was it really th__at bad_?

"Name's Jazz. First Lieutenant and saboteur extraordinaire," came the flourished reply. A large hand was offered to her. "And you must be Diamede."

Briefly, Dia realized her body had relaxed again. Her hands had come to rest in her lap at some point. Cautiously, she reached up and took his hand. Vaguely, Diamede thought she felt a shock; she couldn't be sure. She opened her mouth to say something, but Jazz looked off to the side and got a distant look to his eyes. Curious, Dia stayed quiet and watched. In her stillness, she became aware of the slight tremors from just outside the hangar. They stopped abruptly, and she could only assume that was Ratchet.

The distant glaze disappeared, and Jazz looked back, smiling once more. "Sorry - had to warn the doc. Can't say he's too happy with me, but hey, I'll live."

"You sure?" Diamede chuckled weakly. "I hear he's pretty mean with a tool in his hand."

Jazz laughed; it was a hearty sound that came from the chest. "He is, believe me. I've got enough dents in my chassis to testify to that."

Diamede took a deep breath. Her eyes closed, and she just focused on her breathing. After a moment, she opened them to a confused look from Jazz. Slowly, she followed the floor off to her left; at the very edge of her field of vision, she could see Jazz's feet. She braced her mind, knowing he was larger than she was and accepting it. Every few moments, she lifted her eyes higher. Soon she was looking at his chest, then up to his face. Her heart beat increased, but she kept her breathing steady and refused to allow herself to give into the fear.

"Hey now - take it slow..." she heard Jazz's worried chuckle.

Diamede noted, with a hint of bemusement, his true body was stock still. She could pick up subtle movements; gears spinning, the periodical rise and fall of his chest as air was vented. Hidden beneath his visor, she wasn't sure if his ... eyes were moving, but she imagined they were.

After a moment of observation, Diamede felt a small air of static near her knees. She saw Jazz's body shudder back to life. Glancing to her side, she saw the hologram was gone. Diamede felt tremors from the ground again, and looking back, saw Jazz hold out his hands, shaking his head. Slowly, using the wall as leverage, she stood up.

From this position, with Jazz kneeling about fifteen feet off, she didn't feel as threatened. Perhaps it was his smaller stature, but whatever it was, it was working. When she was certain she wouldn't fall over, she took small steps closer to him. Jazz knelt there, patiently letting her come to him. As she got closer, he slowly moved his hand out, laying it on the ground. Diamede looked at it, then back up to him with a quirked brow.

"Doc thinks it may help - keep you closer to eye level," he explained.

It took her a moment, but with great hesitancy, Dia climbed into Jazz's palm. She didn't dare stand up, and opted for sitting down instead, her legs dangling off the side. With the same careful consideration he showed before, he stood up and brought her up to his eye level.

"Diamede, are you alright?" Ratchet's concerned voice broke in, from somewhere behind her. Diamede almost turned to reply, but stopped herself.

"If it's any help," Jazz muttered, "You can trust the doc. He may have a bad temper, but he'll keep you right as rain."

"I _can_ hear you, Jazz,"

Diamede smiled. "I'm fine, Ratchet. Just... recovering, is all."

"You scared us, Diamede."

"Well, I assure you this wasn't intentional," she scoffed. Feeling bold, Diamede turned enough to see a bit of yellow. From this height, she was roughly at Ratchet's chest level. She looked back to her lap, took a deep breath, then turned fully to look up at him. Even as a robot, he retained the same comforting appearance of a doctor, but also an air of intimidation.

She could feel herself tense up, but kept her eyes solely focused on his face, ignoring the rest of him.

"Well... this wasn't how I pictured this going,"

Diamede's head snapped down; Lennox and Epps stood off near the hangar doors. Lennox had his arms crossed over his chest, a brow quirked.

"How's the view from up there?"

"... I'm not on the ground?"

Diamede flinched away laughing when she saw Jazz's fingers curl inward.

"Hey now, no comments on the height while you're in my hand,"

"Jazz!" Ratchet admonished. "Do not threaten to drop her - are you mad?"

Diamede patted Jazz's hand. "You can put me down now. Thank you, Jazz. I... didn't mean for this to start off like that."

Jazz bent over, safely depositing her on the ground; his visor rose as well, showing the bright blue eyes beneath. "Not a problem, little lady. I'm not some heartless 'Con - if you're not feelin' okay, you just say the word."

Straightening her shirt, Dia chuckled. "That's ... very kind of you - thank you."

He gave a wink - or rather, the best a robot could - then stood back up. Diamede made a point not to look to Ratchet; her heart was still pounding, and she could still feel the effects of her panic attack. She walked over the Lennox, albeit slower than usual. He gave her a once over, and the lifted brow voiced his question.

"I'll be fine, honest," she said. Diamede even held up her right hand. "I promise."

"I'm holding you do that," Lennox replied. "Doctor Peterson said she'd give you your physical tonight; the psychiatrist will see you tomorrow morning."

"Okay; any other news? About me, I mean,"

Lennox shrugged. "My direct superior officer is still skeptical; he knows my team and I well enough to trust our judgment, but he can't afford to base everything off that trust. For the moment, nothing about your situation has changed. I got word from your family; we told your parents you'd be able to write them every two weeks or so."

"_I_ can write them, or _you_ write them pretending I wrote them?" Diamede countered, narrowing an eye.

"You," the Major chuckled. "But, I imagine they'd be read before they're sent out. For security purposes, of course."

Diamede huffed. She'd only been here less than a week; it would take time before she would get used to total invasion of her privacy. That was assuming she _could_ get used to it. Every night it was the same struggle: telling herself it had to be this way - it was to get her answers. That didn't make any less difficult, though.

Diamede was shaken from her thoughts when Lennox shifted, dipping his head slightly to draw her sight back up to him. She apologized, and proceeded to follow him out of the hangar, waving good bye to Jazz and Ratchet. The familiar creep of panic made the hairs on her neck stand up when she looked up to Ratchet, but she hid behind a smile. Walking back out onto the tarmac, Diamede relaxed, letting the heat melt away the stressful encounter.

She'd work to get over this fear; she swore it. If not for her own sake, for the sake of getting her answers. After all, she was in this alone, and unless Voice made itself useful, she doubted she'd get any help.

The only way out of a maze was forward - and that's exactly what she intended to do.

* * *

**End Note:** What better way to make up for long periods of absence than with a longer chapter? Nothing, I say.

Well, except maybe multiple chapters posted at once, but that's not going to happen, unfortunately.

Also, just a P.S.: I have, personally, never had a full-blown panic or anxiety attack. My writing has come from research and experience with friends (who have had panic attacks wherein I helped calmed them down.) At most, I have experienced anxiety (nothing strong enough to elicit an attack), save one account (see below). If, at any time, you feel I have incorrectly written one of these attacks (and yes, they will be an issue for Diamede later on in the story, amongst other more pressing matters,) _please_ feel free to correct me! I don't want to misinterpret something serious like this.

I'd also like to say that what Diamede experienced is more akin to a vasovagal attack, which I _have_ experienced. For those of you who don't know what it is, a vasovagal episode (only called a vasovagal syncope (sync-o-pee) when the person actually faints), it is basically a response to a trigger (trauma, stress, etc) which causes a person to begin to feel faint. Ringing in the ears, numbness, weakness, feeling light-headed, and fuzzy/tunnel vision are common symptoms.


	11. In Flight Service

**Author's Note:** Hey, I'm still alive!

Not a whole lot to say, really. I'm powering through this, trying to catch up to where I was. Hopefully, the chapters will get a bit longer from here on out with shorter ones being one in a few. Key word being "hopefully," that is.

Thank you all for your patience and support; it means the world~ God knows I have none. I hate being a responsible adult :(

_Disclaimer:_ I do not own Transformers; all non-canonical characters belong to their respective owners.

_Warnings:_ Minor language.

* * *

**In-Flight Service**

25th of January, 2008

Airspace above Utah, USA

Local time: 2115 Hours; 9:15 PM

* * *

**There was an annoyed sigh as the large truck shuddered, sagging on its axles.**

"I hate planes,"

"We know, 'Hide, we know," Burke chuckled. He scrolled through a news article on his phone, feet propped up on a crate.

A soldier on the left side of the plane, wobbling on the precipice of sleep, suddenly jerked awake at the vibration from his hip. He pulled out the phone, throwing a quick glance to the caller ID before answering.

"Hello? Yes, sir, this is he... Uh, sure, hold on," he said, covering the mouth piece with his hand. "Hey, Optimus?"

The semi's right mirror turned, reflecting the young soldier's face.

"I have a call from Corporal Reaves," he said, standing up. "General Morshower asked him to debrief you on something important."

When there was no reply, the soldier glanced down at his friend, who had been sitting next to him. All he offered was a shrug, but both turned their attention as the passenger side door opened. The soldier walked forward, peering into the empty cabin. He climbed in, setting the phone to speaker.

"Corporal," the radio greeted. There was a hint of static covering the voice, but not enough to affect clarity.

"_Hello, Prime. I hope you're fairing well?_"

"I am, thank you,"

"_And your team?_"

"We... are learning. Your species has many idiosyncrasies and nuances that we are not accustomed to; it is fascinating, truthfully."

There was a light chuckle. "_You sound more like a scientist when you talk like that, not some thirty-foot tall military commander._"

"Well, I _was_ an archeologist, previously," Optimus explained. "But that is from a bygone time. Is something the matter, corporal?"

"_See, that's the thing. Something __**is**__ wrong, but it's ... I don't know, 'weird' seems like such a weak term. But it is something, and we may need your help._"

Optimus could feel Ironhide perk up behind him. The veteran had obviously keyed in on "help," and these days that translated to "I get an excuse to shoot something."

"What is the problem?"

"_Four of our men failed to report in two days ago, when they were scheduled to arrive at one of our bases in Utah._"

There was a faint grumble from behind Optimus. Clearly, this wasn't what Ironhide thought it would be.

"I... fail to see how that would warrant the deployment of my Autobots, corporal Reaves."

"_And under normal circumstances, I wouldn't even have bothered contacting you about this. But, get this: these four men were each debriefed specially. Each of them was told a specific amount of information on those prototype proton rounds you agreed to share with us. We specifically chose them, and specifically made it so no particular one of them knew more than the other._"

"A sound protection - what happened?"

"_They just vanished. And I mean __**vanished**__, Prime. As in we can't find them anywhere vanished. They were in an armed convoy heading from Nevada to Utah to deliver that information to a base we use to test prototype weapons._"

"And the entire convoy disappeared?"

"_Like something out of science fiction,_" the corporal agreed, his voice growing somber. "_But, a search party found the convoy. Optimus, that convoy was twenty men strong; we found sixteen bodies._"

"And who do we know would do _anything_ to keep the humans from getting our technology?" Ironhide growled.

"The Decepticons..." Optimus finished. "Corporal, we are currently en route back to the Nevada base. When we return, I will relay this information to Major Lennox and begin a strategy."

"_Thank you, Optimus. The sooner we can find these men, the sooner I can put our worries to rest. I don't expect you to just rush out and get into this, but the sooner the better. Just... can the Decepticons even extract information? You all don't have some brain... thought reading device, right?_

"Well, we _do_," Optimus said, choosing his words carefully. "But it will most definitely _not_ work on human physiology. However, the Decepticons are brutal; they are not above torture, corporal."

There was a sigh. After it, there was a brief mumble, and Optimus could tell it was some very colourful cursing.

"_We're not asking for promises here, Optimus. But... please do something - __**anything**__ will help._"

"I promise you, we will do our best, Corporal Reaves."

"_Thank you. Reaves out._"

"Thank you, soldier," Optimus directed at the young man climbing out of his cab as the door shut behind him.

**Ironhide.**

**Optimus, this feels wrong. I can understand the 'Cons wanting to keep humans in the dark, but **_**how**_** would they know? Do you think they have tapped communications?**

Optimus sighed. **I can only assume they have. Which poses a serious threat; we must debrief Major Lennox when we return.**

**I do not like this one bit, Prime. This also means there are 'Cons - ones we **_**don't know**_** - on Earth.**

**I agree - we will have to be more vigilant.**

"_Base is forty minutes out. We're beginning our descent,_"

"About _fragging_ time," Ironhide grumbled.

There was a tense pause. Ironhide seemed to... "shift" on his wheels, while Optimus' mirrors turned to look back at the pick-up. Most of the soldiers looked up, noting the awkward silence between the two Autobots.

"... Sorry, Optimus,"

The Prime merely hummed his response. Burke let out a sputtering snort, before leaning towards the black pick up. "Did you just apologize for _cursing_?"

"I _will_ hurt you, Burke."

* * *

Diamede was sitting on the warm tarmac, leaned up against the hangar doors. Jazz's holoform sat next to her, basking in the sun while Diamede worked on science. Inside, Ratchet worked on Jazz's inert body, finishing up his work with bringing Jazz to his previous functionality.

"... Hey, Jazz?"

"Yeesss?" he replied, rolling his head to the left slightly.

"How the hell do you say this?" she asked, moving her book over to him and pointing at the word. Diamede may be fluent in three languages, but her Sciencese left a lot to be desired. If she knew it, that was.

"It's-"

Tremors vibrated through the tarmac, and Jazz looked up, a hair-shy of panicked. Quickly he stood up, grabbing Diamede's arm and hauling her with him.

"Ow! Jesus, Jazz, what-"

"No time; come now," he said quickly, ushering her around the other side of the hangar. He pressed Diamede to the wall, and moved to side step over to peer around the edge. He could hear Diamede's indignant complaints, demanding to know what it was, but he just held up his hands in a silent promise he'd answer later.

He watched as Optimus and Ironhide rounded the corner, heading for the doors. Ironhide paused, looking down to Jazz's holoform and lifting a brow plate. Jazz just held one finger to his mouth, while using the other to keep Diamede back. Ironhide just rolled his optics and followed after Prime. With a sigh of relief, Jazz turned back and gave a small start.

He'd seen many scary looks in his days, but the one Diamede was giving him was _cold_ and righteous. He didn't think such a petite young girl could give a glare like that. Wasn't there a human saying about that? Women and... something about their anger, he thought.

She opened her mouth - probably to berate him for manhandling her - but he cut her off.

"I didn't want you having another attack," he said quickly. Dia's face channeled her confusion. "OP and 'Hide came back - you could barely handle _me_, and you _still_ can't look at Ratchet. There's _no way_ you could stand to see them just yet."

As he spoke, her safe softened until there was no more animosity. Understanding dawned, and she simply nodded.

"We cool?" Jazz asked, smiling and holding out a fist.

Diamede sighed. "We're cool," she replied, bumping his fist with her own.

"The word was phosphodiester, by the way. It's a bond between carbon atoms in the sugar rings."

Diamede groaned. Couldn't scientists just speak English?

* * *

"Is Miss Tankain alright, Jazz?"

"She's fine, but by the Allspark - she's got a _glare_ on her."

"You are intimidated by a human female's glare?" Ironhide scoffed.

"This glare is _cold_, 'Hide - like _Prowl_ cold,"

"Hm, sounds like quite the comparison," Ironhide hummed.

Jazz narrows his optics. "You never got glared at by him, did you," he deadpanned.

"I did not purposefully provoke his ire, unlike some," the veteran shot back, giving Jazz a knowing smirk.

Jazz made to say something, but Optimus held up his hand. The two bots quieted themselves, turning their attention to Optimus. The commander turned and knelt down, using an arm as support to bend over even more to speak with Lennox.

"I can already tell this isn't good," the Major muttered. "You never come down this low."

"On our flight back, I was contacted by a one Corporal Reaves, under order of General Morshower. He told me that four human soldiers were kidnapped two nights ago when they failed to report in to a Utah maximum security base."

"And?"

"These four men were each told a specific amount of information; enough so that no one of them knew more than the other. They were the couriers of the formulas and specifications for the prototype Proton Rounds."

A few of the soldiers shared horrified looks. Epps looked to Lennox, and didn't miss how the Major's shoulders raised just a fraction. He didn't have to see his face to know it was darkening.

Lennox brought a hand up to his face, rubbing it. "Fuck," he muttered.

Optimus quirked a brow plate for a second, before speaking up again. "I imagine Corporal Reaves took the liberty of supplying you with coordinates of where we may begin our search. In the meantime, you may prepare as you see fit."

"And what about you?" Will asked, his eyes never leaving Optimus as he stood up.

"I am tired, Major Lennox. All I need right now is to rest."

Optimus was careful to walk around the humans, as opposed to over them, as he headed for the back of the hangar. Part way, he transformed and parked himself in his usual spot, nestled near the back left corner. The soldiers began to disperse, but Lennox remained rooted in his spot, watching the Autobot leader.

"Is something the matter, Will?" Ratchet asked.

"Is he ever _not_ tired?"

"No," Ratchet replied, his voice low and solemn. "And I fear he will not be until this war is finally over."

The medic paused, looking to his Prime. Outside, rain began to patter against the metallic roof, slowly growing louder.

"If it ever is."

* * *

Cradled by the deep stages of sleep, Diamede's forehead knit together - in pain or fear was unknown. She rolled around, seemingly uncomfortable in any position. Her eyes moved about rapidly, as if searching... or perhaps _watching_ something.

For a brief moment, her movements stilled, and all seemed peaceful.

When her eyes snapped open, dazed and wild, all was not.

And still it rained.

* * *

**End Note:** Just as a heads up, the next chapter will pick up directly after this one. I hope this avoids any unwanted confusion!

I also hope to make a basic website to put up with more information about Diamede and Brooke, for all my lovely readers' reference :


	12. The Glimpses

**Author's Note:** Being an adult sucks balls LOL

Long, boring story short: my car battery died, we replaced it, found out the alternator (basically a battery charger ) was broken, and needed to be replaced. The place we took it too was asking _eight hundred_ dollars as opposed to the six hundred we were originally told because they found out it was a '07 model, not a '09 like we thought. All is well now, though, so no more worries. For the moment, at least.

Tires and breaks are next, apparently. Joy of joys.

On the plus side, I'm 19 now. Pardon me while I break a hip and complain about the good old days. Also: new icon! It's Diamede!

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Transformers; all non-canonical characters belong to their respective owners.

_Warnings:_ Language.

* * *

**The Glimpses**

26th of January, 2008

Military Base, Nevada, USA

Local time: 0456 Hours; 4:56 AM

* * *

**And still it rained.**

Gasping for breath, Diamede sat up in bed, her heart racing and aching in her chest. A hand flew up, as if to clutch the offended organ. After a moment's hesitation, she kicked her covers off and rolled out of bed. She grabbed the closest pair of pants from the floor, bouncing around to get them on. Ignoring shoes or socks, she bolted from her room in a panic.

As she bolted down the hall, she nearly ran into a soldier. She managed to pivot to the side, skimming by him as he leaned back.

"W-wait! Miss Tankain?!" he shouted after her.

Diamede didn't stop; she almost didn't hear him. Her blood was pounding in her ears, and her only thought was to get to the hangar. She burst out of the atrium's main doors like a hound out of hell, and out into the pouring rain.

She must have looked like quite a site, she imagined. Her shirt was at least four sizes too big, she had no shoes, and it only took moments for her to be drenched in the pouring rain. Truthfully, it stung; the drops hit her skin with a fierce bite, but Diamede could hardly be bothered.

She could see the lights on the hangar. Giving a small burst of speed, she hopped to a stop by the smaller door and threw it open. Diamede paid no attention to the startled jump Ratchet and Jazz gave - her bee line was for Optimus.

Within several feet, a large hand grabbed her. Diamede felt her head whip forward with the force, and her breathe left her. Her feet suddenly didn't touch the ground, and she struggled against the near-painful grip. Her eyes opened for a moment to find an unfamiliar silver hand wrapped around her. It began to turn, and she could only catch a glimpse of bright blue optics before she shut her eyes.

"You do _not_ want to wake up the Prime," the deep voice growled. It didn't take much for Diamede to know this was Ironhide.

"Put me _down_!" she gasped, struggling more.

Behind him, Ratchet and Jazz's worried voices urged Ironhide to comply, but the veteran narrowed an optic.

"You're HURTING me!" she shrieked, feeling him flinch back at the shrill tone. For his part, his grip did loosen. Still, in her panicked state, Diamede just wanted her feet on the ground - _now_.

"Put her _down_, Ironhide!" Jazz commanded. Were it not for her frightened state, Diamede would've noted that was the first time he'd ever displayed his authority.

With a huff, the veteran leaned over and deposited Diamede on the ground. She landed on her feet, but her struggling threw her off balance. Landing on her back, she rolled over and opened her eyes. Water from her soaking hair dripped on the ground, running in rivulets down her forehead and cheeks. She looked up, seeing the large semi shudder to life.

"Stop, stop!" she said quickly, standing up and fast-walking to its side. "Please, don't transform, just stop - just listen!"

"Miss Tankain," the voice from the cab was stern and sharp. Dia shut up, her body going tense. "Breathe, young one. I will not transform, I promise. Just breathe and relax,"

Diamede's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Instead, she just closed it and brought her hands up to wipe at her face. After a moment of breathing, she felt the pain in her chest begin to ebb. She felt slightly light-headed, and her cheeks were numb from the cold and lack of oxygen.

"I don't- I don't know what just happened," she said quickly, trying to keep her voice from cracking. "It just _happened_!"

"What happened?" Optimus asked.

"This... this _vision_!" Diamede snapped, her face contorting to panicked confusion. "I saw an attack - I don't know! There were... there were fires and broken buildings, and soldiers, they were running around. I saw you and someone - I don't know, a Decepticon?"

The ground shook slightly.

"_What_? What are you talking about?" Ironhide growled. Ratchet smacked his shoulder, making a face at his companion.

Diamede didn't dare turn around. She looked back up to the semi's window; her confused begs to be believed written on her face. The truck was quiet; there was no hum from the engine, no noises indicating he was even listening to her.

"Jazz, come console Miss Tankain."

Diamede was about to shout - _scream_ - at him to listen, when she felt a gentle claw touch her shoulder.

"Hey, easy now, Dia," Jazz crooned. He turned Diamede slowly, whose eyes immediately locked with his. He cupped his hand under her, pressing against the bend of her knees to force her to sit. He was deliberate, but steady, raising her to eye level. "Just calm down - it's alright. You're safe here. What did you see?"

"I _told_ you," she rasped, her voice sounding raw. "A fight - a battle, I don't know. I saw Optimus fighting someone his size; there were fires and soldiers - God, Jazz, they were _d_-"

"_Don't_," Jazz cut in sharply, "finish that thought, Diamede. How did you see this?"

"A dream? A vision in my dream? I don't know!"

Jazz looked thoughtful. An idea came to him, but... there was no way it was plausible. Humans didn't just have visions of the future - psychics didn't really exist.

"Was this... part of that puzzle thing?"

Diamede's breath caught, and all her movements stilled to nothing. Her eyes searched his, as if he'd just shown her the truth of God. From behind him, Ironhide began a tirade, demanding to know what they were talking about.

"The glimpses... It was telling the truth! That- that stupid fucking rat was telling the truth!"

Jazz started slightly, looking confused. He noticed the slight shift in Optimus from behind Diamede.

"Easy now, Diamede; this could've been some nightmare-"

"_No_, Jazz!" Diamede barked. "A nightmare doesn't feel like I'm _there_; a nightmare doesn't wake me with the only though being "_tell Optimus_!" A nightmare doesn't _call_ my _name_ and ask me where I am!"

Jazz's eyes danced from hers to Optimus, whose roof split. Jazz quickly brought his free hand up behind Diamede, making sure she didn't turn around while Optimus transformed.

"Miss Tankain," Optimus said, his voice quiet and calm, "You have us at a disadvantage. What... rat are you speaking of? What "puzzle?""

Dia looked up at Jazz. "You didn't tell them?"

"I didn't exactly know how," Jazz replied with a weak chuckle. "I don't... it's weird, Diamede."

"A nice way of saying you don't believe me," she retorted, her face darkening.

Jazz sputtered for a second. "N-now I didn't say that, Dia. It's just - weird, you know? I believe you just... not - I don't- completely?"

That might have been a poor choice of words, as Jazz saw the brief flash of sorrow cross her face. But if she meant to rebuke him, she didn't act on it. Instead, she turned her head slightly, staring back at Jazz's hand.

"Optimus, a few nights ago I had a strange lucid dream. I was in a city; totally empty and devoid of life. This rat thing came up to me and talked to me. Okay, I know this sounds absolutely insane but please, listen to me,"

"It told me of this... building, place, thing, in my dream, called the Atrium. It holds this giant puzzle wall. The rat said something about the pieces of the puzzle being "glimpses" of the future. That it was a "gift" from someone I "did not yet know.""

"You expect us to believe you-"

"Ironhide," Optimus said sharply. The weapons specialist went quiet, his complaint dying in his throat.

"Please, Optimus," Diamede begged. "Please - _please_ believe me. I'm not lying - I wouldn't make this up! I'm scared, I'm confused; I didn't ask for any of this! I just wanted answers as to what's going on and I'm in way too over my head and-"

"Stop," Optimus murmured. He held out his hand, and Jazz instinctively flinched back. Diamede looked up, confused, as Jazz slowly moved his arms out. The hand at Diamede's back lowered to cup beneath her, and she felt herself slip from Jazz's hand into another.

Her body immediately locked up - this was not okay. Jazz was giving her to _Optimus_ - this _was not_ okay. The new, smoother metal beneath her was warm, and slowly, another hand came to rest beneath it. Diamede's legs shot up to her chest, while her hands tried to grab for purchase. She looked to Jazz, but felt herself rising up.

Diamede half expected herself to have another anxiety attack when she saw Ironhide and Ratchet but... nothing. From her current spot, she was perfectly placed to be directly level with their heads. She could feel the familiar trickle of anxiety down her spine, but it didn't spread - it almost felt like it _couldn't_ spread.

Looking down at the new hands beneath her, Diamede found herself struck by how similar they were to her own - how they _dwarfed_ her own.

"Miss Tankain, I will not ask you to look at me, nor any of them. I want you to listen to me: I believe you. I do not fully understand all that you have said, but I believe you. Your situation is already... convoluted as it is, and I would not see you fall into panic at the notion I did not believe you. But: do not focus on those. Know that you are safe; I will not harm you, and I will not ask anything of you that you cannot do. You are under no pressure, child."

Dia had taken to staring at her knees while he spoke. Aside from the obvious lack of conjunctions, and insanely formal speech, he sounded so... nurturing; so fatherly. The fright that gripped her mind began to unwind; her muscles relaxed, and her legs slowly laid flat. Her fists no longer clenched with a desire to hold something. And, unfortunately, she became aware of just how cold and wet she was. She barely suppressed a shudder before looking down to her soaking clothes and letting out a mirthless laugh.

"I'm such a sorry site," she chuckled weakly, picking at her soaking shirt. Thank God it was black, otherwise this would be awkward.

She barely acknowledged the quiet hum before she felt the metal beneath her warm up. It was a steady increase; it seeped into her feet, bottom and hands, and she reveled in it.

"Soldier," Optimus said, looking down to the two soldiers standing by the hangar's human-sized doors. "Will you escort Miss Tankain back to her room?"

"That was the idea," a female soldier replied, motioning with an arm draped with a towel.

Diamede startled slightly when Optimus began to kneel. When the back of his hand touched the ground, she reluctantly slid off the warm metal and onto the cold concrete floor. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, not bothering to look at the others. Her face was red and blotched; she looked like a wreck.

The woman approached her, placing the towel over her shoulders. Diamede noted, with an apologetic smile, that the second soldier was the one she'd nearly run into. He held an umbrella, and was the first to step out and offer her protection from the torrent outside.

Tomorrow was going to be... interesting, to say the least.

* * *

**End Note:** I apologize if this chapter seemed confusing or rushed in anyway. It was intended to feel fast-pace, but sometimes I don't realize just how fast I'm writing.

Slowly but surely, I'm starting to get back to where I was before. For those of you who were fans before, you know what that means.

A certain puppy's coming back soon! Oh, yeah, and some Decepticons get their asses kicked. Or something.

Dog!bot supersede Decepticons, sorry.


End file.
